The Chains that Bind Us
by Jade TeaLeaf
Summary: The enemy of my enemy is my ally. Some beasts would do anything for freedom- including allying himself with vermin. How would these two clashing sides change the fates of Mossflower? Betrayal, friendship, redemption, and grief pave their roads.
1. Brink

**First of all, special thanks to LittlePsychoWolf for her support and encouragement. Read her fic, Eye of the Beholder, it's good. :) **

**Second of all, special thanks to SnuffSnuff for all her help in editing the chapters thus far. So, here I am now, revising things a bit here and there.**

**Disclaimer: All characters (except for Martin) are owned by me. Redwall and its surroundings are owned by Brian Jacques.**

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**Brink**

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Many stories have a starting place. And slowly, these tales weave themselves, straying from their origins (where ever they may be), crawling in some other direction.

For us, our tale begins in the Northlands, where the mountains tower and pierce the clouds, and the ocean waves are fierce and unforgiving. There, on a grey day just like any other, a slaveship rested near shore. It was a nameless ship, to the slaves anyway, as it didn't matter where they were as long as they had no freedom- and as far as their masters concerned, no minds either.

There were twenty-nine of them total, two to each oar, chained to a bench. Each one had a miserable look in his face as they drank in the watered-down stew and crunched on the hardened bread that they were given twice a day. They gobbled up the rations and tried to make the best of their time off while their masters scouted the land. The slavers seldom found any items of wealth in this barren, chilled desert, but they still did manage to scrounge up some food and, now and again, another slave to take the oars.

In the far back of the slavehold, sitting all by himself, a young sea otter had already finished the sad excuse of a meal. He had once had a name and identification besides "slave." While he was free, he was called Brink, but that was some time ago, and the name now felt lost to him. He carved another line on the rough surface of the bench. Sixty-seven lines for the sixty-seven days of servitude and misery.

He would've made the marks on the wall of the ship, except the entire stretch of wood had already been marked. He guessed that some poor slave before him probably spent his entire life on this ship, keeping count of the days as his life passed him by. The thought always depressed him, so he tried his best to focus his mind on something more productive- like escape.

Making sure that nobeast was watching, he bent down a little and started peeling and scratching at the bench leg that held his chain. He had been working on this since his first day, slowly picking though the imprisoning wood with his fingers, tracking his progress and keeping it a secret from everyone- including his fellow slaves. You never know how desperate anybeast can be for a morsel or two of food, after all.

He was now just almost there, almost to the point where he could tug at the chain and the moldy wood would give way. The thought of finally getting out of this accursed ship excited him so much that he almost failed to notice the pounding on the stairs that indicated a slaver's arrival. He sat up quickly and looked away, averting his gaze from the slaver, thus, avoiding attention. He recognized the vermin immediately. It was the weasel, Flayhide, whose name was suitable for his dangerous temper and cruel methods of punishment. Of all of them, Brink _hated _him the most, except for the captain, of course.

The captain, a tall and muscular ferret called Skeel, was just as cruel as Flayhide, often ordering the slaves to work even harder, and when they didn't satisfy his enormous expectations, they were whipped. Brink had the pleasure of being severely punished for his "laziness" once before and he would never forget it.

The otter relished the idea of fighting back, snatching the whip out of their hands and striking back at them at full force, laughing as they cringed and cowered back in fear. The other slaves would applaud him and once he was finished, he would be captain and the vermin would be the slaves. He would be twice as demanding and twice as cruel. He would have the loyal support of a crew and they would be successful in attacking other slaveships and- _Crack! _With a jolt, he snapped out of his daydreaming and back to reality.

"Pay attention, you miserable scraps of fur!" Flayhide struck his whip again with a frightening effect. "Break's over! Back to work!" The slaves grumbled as they grabbed their oars and braced themselves for the tiring work ahead of them.

Glancing back at the bench leg, the otter smiled inwardly. Any day now... any day and he'd be free.

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After some time, possibly about two days (though it was difficult to tell time in the slave hold), Brink woke to the sound of scuffling paws and muffled shouts overhead. He couldn't discern any of the voices and wondered what was happening. Another slave was captured, perhaps. Or maybe the vermin found treasure? He strained his ears and caught a fragment of whatever was going on.

"... slave or... it's your choice, fox." It was Skeel's voice. The otter gave an inward moan at the prospect of another slaver. After all, all they did was make things worse? Didn't they?

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**Okay, it's my first story in like, a year and I hope you liked the chapter. It'll get more interesting, I promise. Thanks for reading and please review. Any criticisms or suggestions are welcome. :)**


	2. Keetch

**Okay, thanks to everyone for the reviews. I really appreciate it:)**

**Disclaimer: Read Disclaimer from Chapter 1**

**REVISED**

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Keetch

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It really wasn't as bad as Brink had anticipated. He expected a bigger problem to handle, something more formidable. Perhaps the slavers were expecting a little bit more from their new recruit as well...

The moment Keetch stepped below deck during his shift as the slavedriver, he was anything but intimidating. He was a skinny fox with brown fur instead of the usual red, and he appeared to be just barely an adult- just a little older than Brink. But his scrawny appearance wasn't the only quality that was strange and somewhat disappointing.

He had a serious problem adjusting to sealife. He had bouts of seasickness and everybeast eventually learned to stay clear of him. It would have been amusing to Brink if these incidents didn't happen below deck as well. The stench of vomit usually stayed for days on end; and of course, it only made conditions worse for the slaves, as the rotting smell oftentimes made the slavers more impatient and dangerous.

As far as Brink's limited experience could tell, he was a meek and harmless creature with no skills or advantages to the other vermin. However, he was not cowardly enough to hold back on the whip. He whipped just as much and just as hard as the other vermin, proving himself to be more than just a spineless lump of fur.

These qualities made the snow fox the outsider of the crew and a hated enemy of the slaves'. And of course, it hadn't been three days since he had joined the crew that he was in an unenvious position...

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He could feel their patience waning. It would only be a matter of before they all decided to kill him off. Keetch knew both of these facts as he sat high in the Crow's Nest, staring at the cloudy sky to keep his mind off the waves below. He desperately wanted to get out of this predicament by any means necessary.

He had hoped that his success in getting the slaves to work faster would gain him at least _some_ favor from the crew. And he had also hoped that his seasickness would come to an end within a few days as well. It seemed to him that his death on this ship was inevitable.

He ran the possiblities through his head. It was possible that he could find a way to gain favor from the captain or any member of the crew... or maybe he could escape once the ship reaches shore? The latter seemed the most appealing to him, as he did have a better chance at outrunning his enemies and hiding, though the prospect of being in new and unfamiliar lands made him nervous.

But then again, why would the crew chase after him if they wanted to get rid of him in the first place? This logic gave him confidence as he shifted his gaze from the sky to the horizon, hoping to see a smudge or a dot in the distance that would indicate land. It made him think about how he ever got in this miserable position.

As a snow fox, his kind was well known for their resourcefulness and strong survival skills that could withstand even the coldest and harshest of winters. But cunning and hardy as they were, they still commonly fell prey to the other vermin out there. And that was just what happened to Keetch, only with less of a fight.

He considered himself unlucky that he camped too close to the shore the day the vermin arrived. They found him asleep at his campsite during their scouting mission and dragged him back to the ship.

There, Captain Skeel struck a deal with him, "It's your choice, join the crew or live the rest of your life as a slave, your choice fox." Choice. That a very justified word for his future's possibilities. He practically had a knife digging into his back the entire "discussion." But of course, Keetch had given Skeel the answer he wanted without hesitation, and then, he had officially joined the crew of the _Scavenger_.

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He felt the familiar sensation of dizziness once again as he finished his thoughts. Instinctively, he leaned over the edge and retched, forgetting that he wasn't on the deck, but high above everyone else.

There was an audible _splash! _and a enraged voice screeched and cursed. Keetch panicked ducked down, panting as he dug his claws into his knees. And then he was certain he recognized the voice... and a sickening revelation came to him. Holding back the urge to be sick again, he cautiously looked below to identify who his victim was. And usual, he was right- he really did have the worst of luck, as it happened to be none other than the captain himself.

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**Brink didn't have a lot to do with this chapter because I thought it was important to introduce Keetch's character a little. Sure he looks like your typical, dumb lacky now, but he'll get more interesting as we go onward with the chapters. **

**Yes, I'm aware that Arctic foxes don't have brown fur and that they have white fur, but that's only during Winter. Their fur changes color from white to brown during the spring and summer. **

**Also, I want to add that the Crow's Nest is just**** a name for the "Lookout Post" on the ship that's high above deck. Just wanted to point that out to all those who are unfamiliar to sailor terms.**

**Also, I've noticed that I haven't really put any dialogue into the story, but I promise, I'll start doing that soon.**

**As usual, I'd really appreciate reviews from you guys. Don't hold back on any criticism or comments you have. Just give me your worst. ;) Thanks for reading!**


	3. The Trial

**Sorry for the longer wait guys. School has been killing me so far, but because I have a snowday today, I'm going to continue with the story. Again, thanks for all the reviews and comments. :)**

**REVISED**

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The Trial

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"So," the captain growled, "what do you think I should do to a miserable little wretch like you?" Keetch held his tongue, keeping his head bent, staring at the floorboards. The captain gave a sharp command to another one of his crew, who quickly left the scene to fetch another wet cloth.

"Well?" The captain inquired once more as he withdrew his cutlass from his belt. He carefully scrutinized its razor-sharp edge, running his paw over it, as if cleaning it. Then he turned his gaze to the crew, who stared back at him, all of them watching with eagerness.

"The cap'n just asked you a question!" Flayhide spat as he kicked the bound fox sharply on the side. Keetch let out a yelp as he sprawled on the deck. The weasel turned his attention to Skeel. "Do you want me to finish 'im of fer yer, cap'n?"

"No, I think I'll deal with this miserable fox," the weasel replied with a sadistic smirk. "So fox, what should be your punishment? A fierce whipping, a walk on the plank, a drop from the crow's nest..." The fox didn't give any response to the threats, except for the fact that he was now shaking visibly and uncontrollably.

"Or maybe I should just slit your throat and stab ye in the gutt!" Skeel roared as he seized Keetch by the collar, pressing his blade against his captive's neck. This time, he got the reaction he wanted.

"No! Wait! P-p-please! It won't happen again!" he begged, wriggling against the ropes despite the futility.

_Ah. That's a good sport._ Skeel, satisfied that the victim was no terrified out of his wits, threw the fox down to the ground harshly and gave him a audible punch to the face. Keetch yelped once more in pain as blood started dripping from his muzzle.

"Here's what you wanted sir," a searat said, handing the captain a brown, dripping rag. Skeel snatched the cloth and shoved the rat back into the group of vermin. He grimaced has he started wiping at the spot of filth on his shirt. The crew waited for the continuation of the trial in silence.

Once he was done, the weasel held his blade up to the light, inspecting it once more. "Well? Answer me fox, what do you think I should do to you?" The fox raised his eyes miserably and answered meekly. "... you're gonna kill me..."

"Yeah, but how am I gonna do it? There's more than one way to kill and torture," Skeel replied coolly, as if it were a casual conversation. The fox gave a small sob as his eyes met the shining blade the captain held, his gaze transfixed on it. Skeel's face flashed with a smirk as a look of pure joy spread on his face. "Flayhide, fetch me my whip!"

The crew cheered as Flayhide obliged.

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The slaves all knew that something was happening in the ship. They all heard the captain scream curses and vile words above deck, and the slavemasters left their posts to witness the commotion. It had been probably an hour and they still hadn't come back. Of course, none of them were complaining.

As if their masters were still there counting and shouting orders, the slaves rowed in perfect unison, all familiar with the pace. Even if the vermin weren't there to order them around, they knew that laziness still came with harsh punishment.

For all Brink could tell, the slavers were now attacking another ship or a member of the crew was being punished. He hoped for the latter. He once again checked the bench leg as he rowed, picking at it every now and then.

"Get him down there!" The slaves snapped their attention to the entranceway as several of the crew members appeared, dragging a disheveled shape between them. The slaves watched in silence as the crew jeered as the bleeding creature was dragged through the aisles.

Brink swiveled his head, trying to identify the creature they held. He gave up these attempts when the group was coming too close. He stifled his curiousity and got back to rowing, keeping his head bent submissively while making sure to keep the damaged bench leg unnoticed.

The slavers dropped their captive on the bench unceremoniously. And suddenly, the otter felt a rough tug at his wrists. Despite his previous intention to keep himself inconspicuous, he raised his eyes in alarm, witnessing a hideous searat pull at the end of his chain. Brink squirmed backwards a little, watching his captors haul a sickly arm forward and into the empty manacles. And with a _clink_, they latched shackles around its wrists.

"Make sure he doesn't get any food or water for a while. Let's see how long the whelp lasts!" The captain yelled. At once, the crew started making bets.

"He'll last a day!"

"A day? I'd give him a few hours! I can bet my rations on it!"

"I bet today's rations _and_ the rum along with it!"

Disgusted, Brink waited until most of them left the slavehold before he inspected his new oar partner. He was shocked to realize that it was none other than Keetch. But then again, he wasn't surprised that the crew had already decided to get rid of him.

He appeared to be in terrible condition. His breathing was harsh and labored, the numerous scars along his back suggested whipping, the bloody nose, bruises, and the fact that one of his eyes swelled shut indicated a savage beating from the entire crew.

Brink grimaced at the thought of being chained to him for the rest of the fox's life, however short that may be.

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Much to Brink's dismay, Keetch had not only given him special attention from the crew, but also a reason for the vermin to be extra harsh on him. It wasn't uncommon for both of them to be beaten for Keetch's laziness and inability to row properly. In addition to that, Keetch oftentimes whined to himself piteously.

And as an added bonus, the crew had adopted a new tradition of splashing buckets of salt water on both of them every morning, just to rouse them from sleep. Of course, that had little effect on Brink, but it made Keetch writhe in pain as his wounds stung. This seemed to further encourage the slavers.

Keetch had also been unlucky enough to have won the hate of the slaves, who oftentimes found joy in watching the fox suffer as they had. Brink didn't find this unusual, as he would do the same if he weren't being punished as well.

He did have to admit, however, that he was surprised that the fox had lasted this long. It had been five days since he became a slave and he still hadn't died. He appeared to be on the verge of recovery, although it was occurring slowly. He was also glad to know that not only did Keetch keep his mouth shut, but he also kept himself at a respectable distance. Brink was also grateful, and extremely relieved, to know that Keetch's seasickness had come to a halt, probably because he didn't have much of anything to get out of his system.

However, he now had to be more weary about his only hope for escape, as the slavers were now keeping a closer eye on him.

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It was now nighttime, both Keetch and the guard were asleep. Making sure he wasn't being watched, Brink bent down to work on his escape. He was so close now, that he started scratching at an excited pace. He was so close to freedom now, he could feel it.

For some reason unknown to him, Brink suddenly felt the strange sensation that he was being watched. Acting instinctively, he snapped his attention to Keetch and cursed his own carelessness.

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**That was the longest chapter I've written so far, since my chapters are usually a bit too short. I'll try to make the chapters longer. Again, I'd really appreciate any reviews, comments, criticisms, suggestions, ideas, etc.**

**Chapter 4: Compromise will be posted soon**


	4. Compromise

**Note: OK guys... sorry for not updating in like, a month. It's just that I've been busy lately with schoolwork and a spring vacation. So I'm going to try to continue at least weekly.**

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**Compromise**

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They stared at each other wordlessly. Recovering from his shock, Brink grabbed Keetch by his shirt collar and started shaking him violently.

"Listen fox! If you even breathe a word about this to _anyone_, I'll be sure to finish you off. You hear me?!" Brink whispered menacingly. He expected some sort of screaming or begging as a response, but to his surprise, the fox answered in a reasonable manner.

"Why would I do that?" he gulped. "I'm in the same position as you are. If you're escaping, you're gonna have to take me along as well, and believe me, there is nothing I want more than to get out of this miserable ship." His reasoning was solid and Brink was at a loss for words for a minute as he contemplated on how to respond. However, his thoughts were interrupted as Keetch cleared his throat nervously and continued.

"You're probably thinking that I'd tell the crew, just so I can get my position back, right? Well, you're wrong because as I said before, I want out of this ship. I wouldn't even stay on this ship if I were made captain. This is the best chance I've got to freedom and I'm not going to blow it by alerting the crew or something stupid like that."

This response only proved to frustrate Brink further, for he was unable to find any evidence against the fox.

"Fine then! What are you saying? That you and I work as a team to get out of this mess? I'm supposed to drag you along with me when I escape? You'll only slow me down, fox!" the otter replied scornfully. The vermin swallowed nervously as he responded, barely a whisper.

"But I... don't think you have a choice. We're bound together and there is no way that you can get off this bench unless I do as well. No way."

"Then I'll have to kill you," Brink growled threateningly as he strengthened his grasp on the fox's collar.

"There is no way you can kill me quickly. Not without a weapon. It'll have to be a slow enough process that I can yell and scream. That would alert the crew and...," the fox added slowly and carefully with his eyes lowered. Then he raised his eyes indignantly in assertion, "... and I'll tell them about your escape plan before I die. So it's an all or nothing deal. You have no choice but to take me along."

"You are in no position to be ordering me around, fox!" Brink's voice rose louder and louder. "You have no right to freedom! Not after all you've done to us slaves! A slavedriver deserves nothing less than to be a slave for the rest of his life and I'm not going to allow you to escape justice! I'm not-"

"Sh!" Keetch clapped a paw over Brink's mouth before he could get any louder.

"Don't forget that we're not the only ones in this place," he reminded him. After checking to see if they had been overheard, he added intently, "Do the others know? They can't know, they can't be trusted!"

"Of course I didn't! I'm not stupid, so shut up!" Brink replied, furious at himself for being careless enough to raise his voice and let the fox save them both. Keetch gave a relieved sigh.

"So what are your plans for after your escape?" he inquired.

"That's none of your business," Brink snapped as he released his grip.

"You should tell me, just in case you do something stupid and ruin the chance for the both of us. I'm on your side and there's clearly no reason for me to blow my own freedom, so tell me your plans!"

"You're getting out of line, fox!" Brink growled dangerously. "And since it was me who has been working on this grand escape this entire time, nobody but me has the right to my plans. I've done all the work while you get a free ride out of here!"

"But, what if anything goes astray? What if there's a hole in your plan? I've been a part of the crew once, so I know things you don't. We've only got one shot at this. You've got to tell me so the plan can work successfully," Keetch replied, reverting back to his fearful tone.

Brink thought for a moment, contemplating his response. _Should I tell him? He does have a point and he doesn't have a good reason to snitch on me, even if he is a fox. But he's still a vermin, he doesn't have to be reasonable. Backstabbing is in their nature! But still..._

"I plan to... capture the vermin and make them the slaves while the other slaves and I captain this ship and wreak havoc over the other slaveships," Brink answered hesitantly, hoping he wouldn't regret this decision. The fox remained silent for a moment, until he realized that Brink wasn't going to say anymore.

"Well I figured as much, but that's _it_?"

"Of course that's not it!" Brink snarled. "I would have to get the keys from the captain's cabin, free the slaves, and then we'll take the ship by storm."

Keetch wouldn't really consider vengeance to be part of his agenda if he were in charge. It would be too risky and all that mattered would be to get away and remain free for the rest of his days. But then again, Brink was in charge and he has no choice but to go with him wherever he goes. Besides, he wouldn't even consider going against him. Armed or not, the otter was a beast not to be messed with.

"That's not as easy as it sounds. This is where I'm useful; we have to be careful about avoiding some of the guards. It depends on who's above deck while we're escaping. If we're lucky, we get the lazy lowlifes who are always asleep when the captain is not around. On the otherhand, we could get Flayhide..." the fox shuddered at the thought before continuing.

"And even if we make it all the way to the other end of the ship, we still have to not wake Captain Skeel. I'm not sure if he wakes easily or not, though...," he gave an uncertain frown at that realization. "And then we have to move any weapons we can find so that when all the slaves attack, the crew will be defenseless. But even if we do succeed, what's going to happen to me?"

"You play your part, and I'll make sure that you get off this ship all in one peace," Brink promised.

"You swear?" the fox questioned.

"I don't have to swear to you! What do you know about honor? I'm at least an honest beast, and I stay true to my word!" Brink replied coldly.

"Fine, I'll take your word for it," Keetch replied with an exasperated tone. "But how long until you think the plan can be put to action?"

"Two days."

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After their argument the previous night, the pair hadn't uttered a word to one another. Brink was hard at work wearing out the wood while Keetch, unable to reach the bench leg, found usefulness in watching for suspicious movements from other slaves and the sleeping guard near the stairs. It was hours until exhaustion from his day's work took a toll on Brink and he fell asleep, knowing that for sure, they would escape tomorrow night.

Because of their eagerness, they didn't notice the fact that the ship was rocking more than usual...

A dangerous storm was brewing.

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It wasn't until later that night that Keetch awoke to the sounds of running paws and frantic shouting. He quickly shook Brink, who, after some persistance, finally came out of his sleep. The other slaves began waking up as well when one of the guards came stumbling down the stairs, cracking his whip and shouting orders for rowing.

By the look of the stoat's wet fur, the strong rocking motions of the ship, and the panic of the crew, the slaves deduced that they were in the middle of a strong storm. The grabbed hold of their oars and began to do their work, grunting as they fought against the violent tide.

The storm only became worse within an hour and the wave's impact would now often cause the ship to lean sideways in a frightening and unstable angle. Three slaverdrivers cracked their whips violently, yelling orders and whipping unmercifully. There was clearly panic in their eyes.

Above deck, the winds were rough and combined with the rain, it stung the crews faces as they ran around, trying to control the ship. The waves had already swept a few beasts away and it grew ever more hungry for victims. Captain Skeel was at the wheel, yelling orders and cursing the winds.

"Captain! Captain!" One of the crew members yelled with urgency.

"What is it?" the captain yelled above the wind.

"Land, captain! There's land that way!" The searat yelled pointing towards a shape in the distance. Skeel grunted as he turned the wheel in the advised direction. By reaching land, at least he wouldn't drown. However, during this storm, he wasn't detect the rows of jagged rocks in their way.

Below deck, the slaves could see that the end could be possibly near. Some were happy to end their miserable lives. Others were at least, comforted at the thought of the entire crew being put at an end. But for the most part, they were sorrowful at the thought that their lives had been so full of misery.

"I don't think we're gonna make it," Keetch grunted quietly.

"I'm not giving up, fox," Brink murmered under his breath. "It can't end this way."

**_CRAAAACK!!_** Suddenly, a hole was punctured along the bottom of the ship. It was only half the size of a paw, but that was enough to silence everyone as they watched the waterlevel rise. Then, two more gashes were torn into the sides of the ship, each one about the length of an arm. This sent the entire ship into intense fear and panic.

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**Notes: OK, please submit a review. Any suggestions, ideas, corrections, any constructive criticism at all is great and I would really appreciate it. Just give me your honest thoughts and don't hold back. Thanks for reading. :)**

**P.S. I've been getting a few reviews asking me why Brink is so cruel to Keetch. Well, I've been trying to make an interesting character. I've been trying to make Brink the character that has a lot of potential good in him, but is fully capable of cruelty. It's not that he's evil, it's just that he has a dark side to him- just to add some more dimension to his character.**


	5. Time and Tide Again

**OK, thanks to everyone who reviewed or responded in any way. To the rest of you, thanks for reading! Alright, here's Chapter 5.**

**Note: The words in Italics are the thoughts in the character's mind**

**_WARNING!! This chapter is more violent and graphic and contains some disturbing scene(s)_**

**Chapter 5: Time and Tide Again**

The storm got worse as the waves rolled and crashed against the ship, rocking it violently. As everyone below deck broke down and succumbed to despair, only two of them had kept their sanity in the situation. Brink and Keetch instantly stood up, yanking frantically at the chain, hoping the wood holding it in place would break loose. In a minute, the water was already up to their knees.

"There's no way I'm dying now! Not here!" Brink muttered to himself. All hope seemed lost to them as the crew began retreating to the upper deck, leaving the unfortunate slaves to their fate.

Then, Keetch heard a commotion behind him. Turning, he saw Flayhide running toward him, crashing through the waters as he too, gave up and headed to the stairway. He, like everyone else, seemed panicked and confused about the situation but there was something he had that sparked Keetch's hope- his sword. It was secured on his waist by a belt and had no scabbard. Immediately, almost by instinct, Keetch grabbed his ankle as he passed by, tripping Flayhide into the water.

At this time, Keetch jumped as far as his chains would allow him and landed directly on him, pinning him down in the water. As soon as Flayhide knew he was underwater, he panicked and started struggling with the weight on his back. In the meantime, Keetch struggled to keep Flayhide under water while he grappled with the sword he had on his waist. Brink, however, found the fray to be out of reach because of the chains and assumed the role of the spectator.

It was only a moment Keetch could feel himself losing his grip on his enemy and he couldn't hold on any longer. _Tougher than I thought!_ _But just a little farther..._ He once more reached for the sword and felt its hilt. He lunged himself for the sword, and clenched the sharp blade in his paw. At that very moment, he felt Flayhide throw him off and he landed with a splash into the rising water, losing his grip on the sword.

When he opened his eyes it was dark and he couldn't see any light, only muffled screaming. The water wasn't yet so deep but panic seized him and he flailed his arms in an attempt to get above water. He felt a paw grab him by the arm and haul him up roughly. He sputtered and coughed as he was pulled above water and struggled weakly to get to his feet, clinging on to his savior for support.

"Get up!" Brink hissed into his ear, "Get _up_!"

"Try to kill me will you?" Flayhide roared between coughs and sputtering. He reached for his belt and to his surprise found no weapon there. Ignoring the absence of his sword, he rushed at Keetch, who was just recovering from his shock and regaining his balance, didn't have a chance to react to the attack.

Keetch was then punched square in the jaw, knocking him off his paws and back into the water. It only took him a second to get his head back above the surface, only to be shoved back down and held there.

"Hehehe," Flayhide cackled cruelly as he watched Keetch struggle helplessly against his grasp, "let's see you get out of this mess now!"

"Take _this_!" he looked up in shock to see Brink (now in range) and felt an intense pain on his face. He immediately let go of his hold on Keetch and lunged at Brink.

Keetch felt the grip release him as his consciousness began to fade. _Am I... dead? No, I imagined death much worse than this..._ Then, all of a sudden, as he reached the wooden floor, he felt something cold, sharp, and jagged against his paw. Then he remembered everything, gripped the sword in his paw, and reached for the surface.

Meanwhile, Brink was having his own dilemma fending himself from Flayhide's brutal attacks. He was at a major disadvantage with his chain limiting his movements and he was struggling to stay above the water, which was now almost up to his shoulders. He could now feel himself being forced into a corner. _I don't know how much more I can take._

Then, to his amazement, Flayhide halted in mid-punch and a small gasp escaped from his lips before he crashed into the water. His own sword was shoved in his back by Keetch, who seemed dazed and confused. Wasting no time, Brink pulled the sword out of the carcass and formulated his new escape plan.

"Hold on to the chain and pull," he instructed Keetch, who was slowly coming back to his senses, "Do it!" Keetch nodded as his head cleared and pulled at the chain. Brink taking one last look to make sure Keetch was doing his part, dove into the water with the sword firmly in his hand.

It had taken him only a moment to find the bench leg and he began working vigorously, sawing away at the bench with the sword. With the combined efforts of Brink and Keetch, the bench leg snapped in less time than Brink predicted. They were free! Realizing what little time they had, Brink rose to the surface as fast as he could.

"Come on," he shouted, "let's go!" The water was now just above their necks and Keetch, unable to swim, had to keep his head inclined to keep it out of the water. Then the both of them made toward the stairway as quickly as they possibly could. It was a painfully slow process, as Brink was being held back by Keetch, who flailed pathetically in the rising water.

"You're too slow!" Brink growled in frustration as he dropped his sword and swam back to retrieve Keetch, who was no submerged but still flailing his arms around. The water was already just about 5 feet away from the ceiling.

"Stop moving!" he ordered harshly as he wrapped his arm around his waist and held him above water. Brink then continued his swim with urgency and all the speed and energy he could muster. It was still a slow process carrying the fox through the water, but it was still a faster way. Brink was almost at the stairway when he suddenly took notice of his surroundings besides the rising water.

Perhaps it was the focus he had on reaching the stairway, perhaps he was still dazed from the fight, perhaps the water was effecting his vision and hearing, but for some reason, he hadn't taken notice of what mayhem was occuring around him until now.

He heard the feeble screams of his fellow slaves as they hung on for dear life. Most of their corpses were slightly submerged in water. One of them, a mouse, had even stood upon stacked up the corpses to keep most of his head above the water. The rest of the remaining slaves were staring at them, begging them for help.

"Help us! Help us _please_!_"_

"Don't leave us to die!"

"No! Wait! Come back! Come back!"

These eerie moans rang in his ears as he witnessed the misery and death around him. Then he turned his attention to the mouse who was standing on the corpses. He was small for his age, probably 2 or 3 seasons younger than him and he had probably been a slave for as long as he could remember.

He didn't say anything- he didn't need to. He just simply held his gaze on Brink with a calm, accepting expression on his face as a tear rolled down his cheek and into the water.

"What are you doing?!" Keetch yelled, snapping Brink out of his trance, "We're almost there!"

"But what about them? We can't leave them!" Brink shouted.

"We have to! The water is going to reach the ceiling soon! The only ones who can survive right now are us! We can't sacrifice this opportunity for them! Their fate is sealed!"

"We can't! We just _can't_!" Brink yelled, his voice faltering. For the first time since Keetch met him, Brink seemed uncertain. Keetch struggled out of Brink's grip and struggled forward. Brink just stayed where he was, staring at the pleading victims and pondering his helplessness in the situation.

"Normally, I'd let you do what you want, but we're _chained_ together! I don't get out unless you do and you're not dragging me into this! It's suicide!" Keetch protested, tugging at the chain. Sorrowfully, Brink tore his gaze from the scene and swam toward the stairway.

The stairway entrance was now submerged completely and to get there, Brink and Keetch had to dive down. Brink just couldn't help himself as he turned around, prepared for what he would see. The young mouse was gone, completely out of sight and there were only two slaves left. The worse part was, they were silent, staring at him with the same accepting and hopeless expression on their faces. He would forever be haunted by what he saw that day.

"Hold your breath," Brink ordered as he grabbed Keetch's arm. Without another word or another glance, he dove underwater and swam through the stairway until he reached the surface. They were still in the stairway and Keetch had barely been able to hold his breath for that long, as he gasped and sputtered.

They ran frantically up the remainder of the stairway and reached the deck. There, they saw all the vermin scrambling around in a confused and urgent manner and the captain was still shouting orders to the crew, trying to regain control. In their panic, none of them had even noticed the two escaped slaves.

The ship gave another violent lurch as another wave crashed onto it, carrying several vermin away with it. With another wave, the ship was sent backward, crashing into a tower of rock. The wood then splintered, sending the ship into complete disarray as a handful of vermin, including Brink and Keetch tumbled into the treacherous waves.

* * *

Brink had no idea where he was anymore. He felt himself spinning in the dark water and he felt some weight pulling at his left arm. _No! I must survive! I must get my vengeance!_ With newfound strength and determination, he swam for the surface, pulling Keetch along with him. Even for an otter, Brink found great difficulty in staying afloat in such a storm.

As if by chance, he spotted a large piece of wood floating on the water. It was probably a part of the ship once, but Brink didn't care. He swam up to it and clung onto it. Then he hauled the unconscious Keetch above water and onto the pathetic excuse for a life raft.

Catching his breath, Brink attempted to look around but he couldn't see any sign of the ship or any of the vermin. He did, however, spot land up ahead. _It's gone. The ship's gone along with everyone that was a part of it. At least, now it wouldn't enslave anyone else._ Brink then turned his attention to the shore, gauging its distance and hoping that he would be fortunate enough to reach those distant shores.

* * *

**Thanks to everyone for reading. I know this chapter was a little confusing because it has a lot of stuff going on in there and yes, Brink and Keetch are still chained together. **

**I'm also aware that the water level seemed to be rising really slow but everything in that chapter happened really fast. I recieved a lot of reviews about Brink's dark personality and I decided to try to emphasize his good side a little in this chapter. **

**Special Thanks to Awesomewriter123 for pointing out my terrible grammer mistakes. I've fixed them already :)**

**Anyway, I'd appreciate any REVIEWS, comments, _constructive_ criticism, etc.! Thanks for reading! :)**

**P.S. Chapter 6 or 7 should delve into Brink's past so keep reading ;)**


	6. Home Away from Home

**Okay, thanks again to everyone who read/reviewed!!**

* * *

It was not until the storm was gone and the sky had completely cleared that the seagulls had taken flight once more. Scanning the shoreline, the gulls sought out anything shiny or edible. It was then that they saw to unmoving shapes in the sand who were, for some reason, chained together.

Mustering their courage, they landed near them and carefully approached. There was no response from either one of the creatures. The gulls then commenced to check if they were dead, pecking at them cautiously. To their dismay, one of the creatures stirred and swatted them weakly with his paw.

"Kraahh, dis one's awake!" They exclaimed with surprise and disappointment as they scattered and took flight.

Keetch sat up, completely exhausted. He was aware of an unpleasant feeling in his mouth and spat out a lump of sand and threw up some salt water. Confused at first, he slowly recounted the events of last night and analyzed his situation.

_I'm filthy, I'm suffering from dehydration, I'm starving, I have no idea where I am, I have no supplies, and most of all, I'm not alone_. He turned around and looked at Brink, who was lying face down in the sand. Gingerly, Keetch rolled him onto his back and put his ear to his chest to see if he was breathing.

_Good. He's alive. That means I don't have to drag a corpse around with me... though I wonder if I'd be better off if he were dead..._ Making sure to stand as far away from his as he could, Keetch grabbed a stick and gave Brink a quick jab in the arm. There was no response. With more confidence, Keetch gave him two more jabs, this time with a response.

"What?!" Brink exclaimed with surprise and confusion before spitting the sand from his mouth. Brink seemed to be in the same miserable state of starvation and dehydration.

"Where are we?" Brink asked wearily, scanning his surroundings. The sun was high and just at a distance there was some forest.

"'Dunno," Keetch shrugged, "But maybe we could get some water in that forest over there."

"Maybe..." Brink muttered as he weakly got to his feet.

Wasting no breath, the two of them staggered through the sandy beach. They had been silent the entire way as their consciousness was slipping but their subconsciousness drive kept moving them forward. It had taken them about an hour to reach the shelter of the trees. There, they collapsed under the sparse shade.

"The woods appears deeper than I thought," Brink said, "Maybe there's a river in there."

They took a rest for a while and commenced on their quest for water. Stumbling through the vast forest, the two of them had at last made it to a river. Thanking their luck, the two of them dashed to the edge of the river and drank from it greedily.

After their long drink and a rest, the two decided to search for food. Being in this new land, neither of them had any idea which was the best place to search for food or what was even edible. Had they had any flint for a fire, they would've eaten some grilled fish.

"You lived out by yourself," Brink complained, "how can you not know what to do here?"

"I lived in the far North and there aren't many trees where I'm from," Keetch retorted, "Well what about you? I bet where ever you came from had to be more plentiful than the North."

"I lived on an island and we thrived on fish, not so much vegetables and fruit," Brink answered tersely.

The two of them continued walking along the river, neither of them saying a word. In the end, they had settled for some berries for a meal and decided to rest under the shade of the pines. Being that neither of them were on particularly friendly terms, they were wary of one another.

Brink, who wasn't comfortable being so close to what he considered an enemy, didn't catch much of any sleep that night. Instead, he kept watch of the surrounding area and made sure that Keetch wasn't going to try to kill him. Keetch, however, had plenty of sleep.

To him, he figured that if Brink were to ever kill him, Brink would be stuck chained to a corpse, which would prove to be more of a burden. Unless Brink would find a sword or something to cut his arm off, he would be in a worse situation, which was unlikely.

The next morning, the two of them set off again, this time not feeling quite well having eaten those berries. Brink was worse off, having eaten the most berries and completely fatigued. Their march had slowed so significantly by the afternoon that they had to take a rest.

"My stomach hurts," Keetch complained quietly to himself.

"Stop your whining," Brink snapped, "You're not any worse than me."

"Well I didn't tell you to gorge on those berries," Keetch retorted.

"Hmph!" Brink snorted as he lay on his side, curled up and ready for some shut-eye. Keetch, within moments, had fallen asleep as well. Now both of them were completely vulnerable to whatever dangers were lurking in the forest.

* * *

By the evening, the two of them awoke to a delicious aroma that was completely undescribable to them. Scrambling up, they noticed two bowls of soup placed near them. Without any question, the both of them drank from the bowl greedily. It was not until they were finished that they questioned who had given them the food.

"Who did this for us?" Brink questioned, looking around for any signs of anyone, "Do you think it's poisoned?"

"Of course not," Keetch replied, "Why would they poison us when we were already vulnerable enough in the first place? They could've killed us in our sleep." At this statement, Brink cursed himself for his carelessness.

"Why didn't you stay awake and keep watch like I told you to?" he scowled.

"You gave me no such order and besides, I don't recall ever having to take orders from you," Keetch growled.

"Well I stayed up all last night making sure nobeast was going to kill us!"

"Then you should've woken me up so we could take shifts!"

"How was I supposed to know if you were going to stab me in my sleep or not? I can't trust you!"

"And I can't trust you!"

"Stop your senseless bickering at once!" a voice scolded. The two of them turned around and saw an elderly bank vole dressed in a hooded cloak. Then they saw that she had a plate filled with fruit. Their mouths instantly began to water.

"Are those... for us?" Brink inquired, staring intently on the food, "Did you give us the soup?"

"Of course I did," the vole continued in her scolding tone, "Now you two were bickering so much, you didn't even notice I was right here. I could have been a vermin and you wouldn't have even noticed the danger you were in." She placed the plate on the floor and took several steps back.

The two of them saw it as their que to eat. They wasted no time with introductions and wolfed down the food. Of course, Keetch was shoved more than once when Brink felt he was trying to take his share. When all the food was gone, the two of them continued bickering, much to the bank vole's dismay.

"You took more than your share," Brink growled.

"What are you talking about?" Keetch scoffed, "You ate much more than me."

"That's because I need more than you!"

"That doesn't make any sense. I'm taller than you, so if anything, I should have more."

"Well I was sick the most from those berries you said we should eat."

"You always have more! Even when it comes to poisonous berries, you always have to have more!"

"Enough of that you two!" the bank vole scolded unmercifully, "You two are so busy bickering that you don't even thank me for the food or even have the decency to introduce yourselves. You two should be ashamed!"

Both of them were at a complete loss for words at their harsh scolding. Finally, Brink spoke up.

"Sorry ma'am," he muttered before nudging Keetch, who repeated the same thing.

"Now that's more like it," the bank vole said warmly, "Now why don't you come to my home. You two are completely filthy and look starved, even after I've given you all that food." Without a word, she turned around with Brink and Keetch trailing right behind her eagerly.

Her home wasn't a long walk away and neither of them said anything until they reached their destination. It was a simple house made out of a gigantic hollow log but it was was cozy and had a wonderful feeling of warmth inside. It was furnished with a large, round table with several chairs surrounding it, a fireplace, a rocking chair, and several blankets spread out across the floor.

"I'm quite alone now that all my children have moved out," she said cheerfully, "And I haven't had company in such a long time. You're so lucky I found you in the woods, otherwise you would be spending tonight out in the rain."

"Thank you for your hospitality," Brink said with courtesy.

"Yes well, go sit at the table and I'll see what I can get for you," the old bank vole said as she hung her cloak on a coatrack. The two obediently complied and took their place at the table. In a minute, they were each given a slice of bread and another bowl of soup. This time, they decided to mind their manners and use a spoon.

"You can call me Ma Krammel," the vole said warmly, "Now what are your names?"

"My name's Brink."

"And I'm Keetch."

"Well it's nice to meet you," she replied with interest, "Now I don't mean to pry, but you two are surely an interesting pair. How did you two come to meet each other and why are you two chained to each other? Where are you heading exactly?"

"Well, we were slaves, see... and we've just escaped from the slaveship in that storm, you see," Brink explained, "And we have no idea where we are, being that we've been taken from our homes quite a while ago..."

"Oh, you poor things," Ma Krammel said sympathetically, "That's so sad for the both of you. No wonder why you're so filthy and starved, you poor things. Seeing as you're both completely lost, you can stay here for as long as you want."

"Thank you very much," Brink said with gratitude, "... but could you perhaps tell us where we are? Have you ever heard of my home, Seafoam Island?"

"Oh no, I'm sorry, I've never heard of such a place. And, well, you're in the Northwest region of Mossflower."

* * *

**So there you have it. Brink and Keetch are now in Mossflower. Next chapter will give more info on Brink's past and how he became captured. I know the action's died down this chapter but I promise the story will pick up again. Thanks to everyone and please review! Any constructive criticism, advice, ideas, or comments are welcome!**


	7. Footprints

****

OKay, originally I wasn't going to write today, but since I'm waiting for the new Avatar episode to finish loading, I decided to type up the story.

* * *

**Footprints**

For the first time in what seemed for forever, Brink was living under a roof, had food, and most of all, felt secure. He had never felt better about his situation in life. Of course, he still had to tolerate living with that fox and he had absolutely no idea when he would be free of this burden.

For the past few days, Ma Krammel had been a mother to them both. She had tended to their wounds and had fed them all the food they could possibly ask for. Just that day she had sent them out to check the fishing nets and possibly collect some firewood and fruit on the way back.

"Just get back before dark," she warned them before they left, "I don't want you two to get lost. It gets chilly out there sometimes and I wouldn't want you two catching a cold." For once in Brink's life, he didn't mind having someone fussing over his well-being and he even wondered why he hated it some much.

"Don't worry about us," he reassured her, "we'll be back in no time at all."

"And stick close to the road," she reminded them, "And keep clear of vermin." At this statement she winced at the careless choice of words.

"Erm... I- uh... I mean... be careful who you talk to," she said hastily, casting her eyes on Keetch who didn't seem offended in any way. Then the two of them marched off into the woods with fish baskets and empty burlap bags tucked under their arms.

"And keep close together," she called out to them, only realizing her mistake after she said it.

"We will!" they replied in unison, rattling their chains at the statement.

The way to the stream was quite deep in the woods but the path wasn't an arduous one. They frequently found plenty of nuts and fruit on the way. Of course, based on past experiences, both of them preferred to avoid berries, despite Ma Krammel's reassurance that most berries in the forest were edible.

"Maybe she'll make some more apple pie," Keetch speculated as he inspected an apple.

"It could be the very last thing I eat and I won't have any regrets about it," Brink joked.

As they neared the riverbank, they saw some ominous signs of disturbance. The branches and bushes of the forest were rudely trampled upon and were cut down, probably by swords. Even more unsettling were the footprints left in the mud.

"A fox and a rat from the looks of it," Keetch said, crouching over the prints, "They're not fresh... but it looks like they were traveling along the river."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah," Keetch replied, scanning the area, "They went the opposite way from Ma Krammel."

"I can see that," Brink retorted.

* * *

The trek back to the house stretched on longer than usual. This time, they walked at a quick pace, not taking any chances to pick food, talk, and they constantly jumped at every noise. Weaponless, they were already vulnerable, and being chained together was just a serious disadvantage.

When they reached the house, they closed the door quickly and immediately began taking furniture and stacking it against the door. Ma Krammel was sitting on her rocking chair, carefully stitching some cloth together.

"There you are," Ma Krammel said without looking up from her needlework, "I hope you have some berries because they make some wonderful pudding and I'm sure you'd love them. Oh by the way, you have such wonderful timing!" Her delighted chatter went ignored while Brink and Keetch continued fortifying their barricade.

"I had just finished stitching some jackets together. They weren't too much trouble. I know you have difficulties dressing yourselves because of the chains, but I can't let you go on dressed in rags. I had to cut the sleeves and sew buttons on, nothing special. It was tricky, but... what are you doing?"

The distracted cheerfulness was gone from her voice as she noticed the barricade and the tense atmosphere. There was a moment's pause as the joy faded from the old vole's kindly face and became a look of concern and confusion.

"What happened?" she asked in a smaller voice. Brink swallowed his dry throat, thinking of what to say. Guilty of being the bearer of bad new, he turned to Keetch.

"Tell her what we saw," Brink said in a cold voice. Keetch complied, but not without hesitation.

"We... noticed that there were some vermin out in the woods. Their pawprints were fresh and were headed downstream, opposite from us. They must know we live somewhere near the river, since they noticed our fishing nets."

"They ate all the fish and even ripped up the net," Brink added in with a growl.

"But they headed downstream," Keetch continued, "and it's possible they crossed the river. We might be out of this predicament, but still... I want to make sure they don't come here."

"I'll keep watch at night. I'll make sure nobody gets in here," Brink added in. Ma Krammel was utterly speechless at first, her perplexed eyes staring at the barricade. Then she surprised everyone by brightening the situation with an optimistic remark.

"They must be long gone by now," she tried to sound fully confident, "Don't worry about it. It's a small matter and these woodlands have plenty of bad beasts and my house is still standing. A few more of them shouldn't be a problem."

"But-" Keetch asserted.

"No, no. Not a problem at all," she interrupted, "Now let's forget about this and let this matter pass us by. We can stay inside the house for a few days, until I think it's safe enough."

* * *

Even though she said there was nothing to worry about, she didn't do anything to take down the barricade. It was chilly and the fireplace was put out, and there was an uneasy, unbearable silence except for a few quiet clinks of pots and pans.

That night, Brink and Keetch guarded the door, armed with kitchen knives and alert to every sound. Eventually, they had to take shifts during their watch. It was now Brink's turn. Struggling to stay awake, he leaned back, feeling his eyelids drooping. Then he heard footsteps nearby, now wide awake and ready for a fight, he grabbed his kitchen knife.

"It's alright Brink, it's me," a voice whispered. Brink relaxed as he realized it was only Ma Krammel.

"Don't scare me like that... what are you doing so late anyway?"

"I should ask you two the same question," she retorted stubbornly, "And I told you that you don't have to guard the entrance. It's barricaded well enough already." After realizing that Brink wasn't going to reply, her voice softened.

"Brink, are you afraid?"

"No, of course not."

"Were... you afraid when they took you... and made you a slave?"

"No. I was fine. I could handle myself. I knew I would escape someday and well... I did."

"Are you sure you weren't afraid?"

"Maybe only just a little."

"I know this is a little personal," she ventured further, "but... how did they take you? How old were you? Do you ever... miss...-"

"- my family? Just a little," Brink gave a nervous shrug.

"... You don't have to tell me anything if you don't want to," she said in a soothing voice, "But it must have been hard."

"Yeah, it was... kinda. I wasn't a slave for a long time though. I was still as old as I am today when I was captured," he began, "I was traveling the world then, and I had no idea what kind of trouble I would get into. I chose to run away from home, you see, because I wanted to find adventure.

"But I was the son of a fisherman on a small island- Seafoam Island. Nothing interesting would ever happen there and it was so boring. The only times when it was fun was whenever sailors would arrive at our island and tell stories about the world and its adventures.

"I didn't want to waste my life on the island. I wanted to travel, to see things beyond my imagination and do things that I would have never thought possible, but... my family was worried for me. They didn't want me to go and live my dreams. They wanted me to stay on the island forever, where it was 'safe'. We fought over this almost every day and each time they said 'no', I was even more determined to run away, so... that's what I did. I escaped on an old raft I put together quickly."

"Did you hesitate? Did you want to stay?" Ma Krammel inquired.

"Not at first. Back then, I was so foolish and naive. But when the slavers surrounded me on an island and forced me into a life of slavery... there was nothing more than I wanted other than to see my mother and father again. But I'll show up at Seafoam and... they 'll see how much I've grown." Delicately, Ma Krammel placed a paw on his shoulder.

"I'm so sorry," she began, "I know how it feels to be all alone in the world, but I think-" Suddenly, there was a faint scuffling outside. Brink instinctively reached for his knife and gently woke Keetch from his sleep. He could hear voices faintly outside, getting louder and louder as the intruders came closer.

"There's no food in this forest. Those berries aren't even considered a proper meal," a familiar voice complained. Brink clenched his teeth in a mixture of disgust and fury.

"It's Skeel."

**Cliffhanger! The next chapter will be more action-packed, I promise! I'm sorry if the action seems to be dying down completely, but this entire plotline will all be an important part in the near-futures. I honestly think this was my weakest chapter so far though. Keep in mind, it's almost 4 AM here, so please cut me some slack. _Please review or comment!_**

**Note: After going through some editing I've realized what an idiot I was at grammer and logic so I fixed them. Sorry for everyone who read this before I went through it again.**

**Well, Brink's past isn't really that exciting, I know. But I think that it's just too common for characters to be "peaceful people who had their families killed by vermin". So I made him a little more ordinary. **

**_NEXT CHAPTER HAS A FIGHT SCENE!!_**


	8. Faults and Promises

**OKay guys, I'm back. I'm sorry for the delay, but I had to study for 3 AP tests and now I'm done taking the tests and I can get back to focusing on this. I'm going to make this chapter extra long, just to make it up to you guys. :) By the way, I'm sure you've noticed all the spam in the Redwall section. Can't this guy find something productive to do (like get a job) or maybe be a jerk someplace else? ... anyway, back to the story.**

**WARNING: LOTS OF VIOLENCE IN THIS CHAPTER AND SOME SLIGHT LANGUAGE**

* * *

**Chapter 8: Faults and Promises**

* * *

"This is it!" Brink growled, his voice dripping with menace, "I'm going to kill you." With his paw clenched tight over the hilt of the knife, he took a step toward the door. He stopped as he felt a small, shaky tug at his sleeve and looked behind only to see Ma Krammel, her eyes stretched wide with terror and panic.

"Stay back," he said as gently and softly as he could, "stay in the house and stay out of sight."

"Don't do it," Brink snapped his attention to Keetch, "It'll only get the both of us into trouble."

"Don't you get it?" Brink snarled, "This is the one who enslaved me! I spent days- weeks- months in that miserable, god-forsaken ship sweating over work night and day, feeling the sting of a whip, barely living off moldy bread and water! He's going to pay! He's going to pay even if it's the last thing I do!"

Frustrated, he shrugged off the vole's grasp on his sleeve and made his way toward the door. He stopped abruptly when he felt a shart tug on his wrist. He turned around to find Keetch holding on to the chain, his eyes panicked in contrast to his calm and controlled composure.

"You weren't the only one enslaved," he replied calmly, "I was enslaved too, if you can remember. Your revenge and bloodlust is getting in the way of your judgement."

"That's right! You were enslaved too- you and the other slaves!" Brink said, barely able to keep his voice down, "And where are they now?! Their all _dead_! I demand justice!"

Without warning, he gave a violent jerk to the chain, sending Keetch scrambling to the ground. Wasting no time, Brink made his way to the barricade, draggin the protesting Keetch along with him. Once he reached the barricade, he shoved all the furniture out of the way, chairs, stools, tables, all crashing and cluttering to the ground.

"Hey! Who goes there?!" a nervous voice called out to the darkness.

"Oh just you wait," Brink grunted as he kicked a chair out of his way. Grasping the knife, he lunged for the door, ignoring the desperate attempts and protests of his accomplice. He was outside now, brandishing his weapon as he scanned the area for his enemy.

It was a difficult task and his enemy was hiding under the cloak of darkness. As his eyes were slowly adapting to the darkness, he heard a nervous gulp beside him, an indication of Keetch's position. Then, he heard a soft chuckle to his other side and he whirled around to face his opponent.

"Oh so it's just the two of you slaves," said an amused voice, "and here I thought I was going to face a challenge."

"You fool!" Keetch glared at Brink, "You've doomed the both of us!"

"Come and fight me, coward," Brink growled, ignoring Keetch, "And I promise I'll make you pay for all your seasons of cruelty!" His throat was dry, his paws were shaking, but his eyes shone with determination, rage, and bloodlust.

"So be it slave! I'll make it my pleasure to kill the both of you!" Skeel's voice was no longer mocking, but filled with malice and anger. Rushing at the pair, his sword sliced the open air as it whisked just over Brink's head. Ducking low, Brink made a quick jab at his opponent, just missing him as Skeel jumped backward.

"You're gonna have to fight with me now," Brink muttered to Keetch, "We're in this mess together." Keetch didn't respond to Brink, but stared intently at Skeel, every ounce of his body tense and prepared for action. Taking this as an agreement, Brink muttered one phrase: "Let's go then!" and they took off running toward the ferret.

Being that a sword is much longer than a knife, Skeel had an advantage over the two of them, who already had their movements restricted by the chain. He made a swift sideways swipe, which was in turn, was blocked by Brink's knife. Clashing with the knife, the sword's direction changed and went over their heads.

Taking advantage of this moment of vulnerability, Keetch punched the ferret in the stomach, ducking back quickly after the damage was made. Brink's paw throbbed from the impact with the sword, but he refused to back off and took a step forward.

Losing the little control and composure he had, the ferret lunged at his opponents, swinging his sword and yelling. Caught in the moment, Keetch and Brink ran in two different directions, causing them to stumble in a clumsy and disoriented manner.

"You're dead now!" the ferret roared as he charged at his opponents. Skeel slashed his blade, aiming for Brink, only for it to scrape the ground as Brink rolled out of harm's way. Frustrated, the ferret grasped his sword with both paws, and started stabbing at Brink, just barely missing him as the otter rolled frantically to avoid the sharp thrusts of the sword.

Suddenly, a rock crashed into Skeel's left knee, causing it to collapse as he yelped in pain. With a swift upward kick from Brink, Skeel was upright again, staggering backward as blood dribbled down his chin. As he recovered from the impact, Brink was getting up from the ground.

Keetch was clutching at a rock, and with another well-aimed throw, the ferret felt another surge of pain on his side. He cried out in pain as he staggered sideways in an awkard limp.

"Let's rush him!" Brink commanded, panting. They charged at the ferret and tackled him to the ground. Brink heard a satisfactory cry of pain as he shoved his small knife into Skeel's side. Panicked, the ferret waved his sword around threateningly as Brink, without any time to retrieve his weapon, leaped backward. Keetch, however, reacted slower and Brink heard a grunt of pain come from the fox as he scrambled backwards.

Skeel staggered upright, grunting from the effort. All of them were panting and sweating, barely able to see in the dark night. There was a moment of tense silence as each of them surveyed the enemy, searching for weak spots or moments of vulnerability.

Grimacing, the ferret tugged the weapon out of his side and held it in his other paw. Brink cursed his carelessness inwardly as he realized that his mistake had left them not only weaponless, but he had also armed the enemy. Panting, the ferret ran at them again, yelling as he waved both weapons in the air.

"Run!" Keetch called out and Brink instinctively obeyed, not chancing a glance backward as they dashed past trees.

"You can't keep running forever!" the ferret called out, running after them in a limp. Although the limp had slowed him down significantly, he was still quite fast as he ran after his opponents. In the panicked state they were in, they had absolutely no sense of direction and weren't running towards any specific place. All that mattered was the distance between them and their predator.

Brink was scared. He could hear his heartbeat racing faster and faster and all he knew was that he was running from death. He now seriously regretted coming out of the safety of the house and he regretted leaving home in the first place. _Stupid! Stupid!_ he cursed himself as he ran doggedly through the forest with Keetch in tow.

Suddenly, Brink stumbled over a tree root, causing Keetch to come crashing down to the ground along with him. They froze in panic as they heard the rustle of bushes not far behind them.

Scrabbling to back to their paws, they realized it was too late as the ferret was already upon them. The ferret swung his sword as they took cover behind a tree. _Scrape! _The sword left a gash in the tree and they continued in their mad escape. They hadn't gone far when they reached the river. They hesitated by the riverbank and Keetch whirled around as Skeel's arm was raised over his head to strike them down with his sword.

Without thinking, Keetch grabbed the ferret's arm as he brought it down in full force. Although it stopped the blade from cutting him, the momentum brought all of them crashing into the river.

When he opened his eyes, he couldn't see anything. Everything was pitch black and he could hear the water roaring in his ears. He could also feel the current carrying them down the river as well.

Realizing his situation, he took advantage of it. Still with his firm hold on Skeel's arm, Keetch bit it savagely, making the ferret release his grip on his sword. Grappling for his chain, he also hoped that the ferret had let go of the knife as well.

_This is it! It's now or never!_ Grabbing the chain, he looped it around Skeel's neck and pulled with all his might. He ignored the ferret's frantic convulsions and never relinquished his hold. He could feel the ferret's desperation for air as his convulsions became more violent but still he didn't let go. Slowly, in what felt like a long time, the ferret's struggles weakened until all Keetch felt was dead weight.

Relieved, exhausted, and realizing that he had no air, Keetch released his hold and kicked upwards. To his shock, the chains were still caught around Skeel's neck. Frantically, the fox tried to untangle his chains, but to no avail. _Darn it! Even in death he won't give up until I die!_

Meanwhile, Brink was struggling to keep his head above the water. Even for a natural-born swimmer, to stay above water with the weight of two beasts dragging him down was quite a feat. Fighting against the strong current, Brink grabbed for anything he could hold on to.

The rocks were too slippery and whatever part of the bank he grabbed on to crumbled, leaving him nothing but a pawful of mud. Just when he thought he was reaching his limit, he grabbed on to an overhanging branch from a toppled tree and was relieved to know that it didn't break under his grasp.

Mustering his strength, he began to pull himself out of the current just as Keetch's head unexpectantly popped up to the surface.

"Brink! Brink! You've gotta help me!" he sputtered as he clung on to the otter.

"What?! Get off! Get off! I'll lose my grip!" Brink yelled as he strained himself to hold on for dear life.

"He's dragging me under! He's dragging me under!" Keetch screamed. Brink chanced himself to look down and was disgusted by the sight of the ferret with its mouth agape in a silent scream, its tongue lolling out of it, and the wide, terrified eyes.

"By the fang!" he cursed, "You killed him! What did you do?!"

"He's tangled in the chains! I can't shake him loose!" Then Brink began to panic as he felt his grip on the branch weakening.

"Hang on!" he ordered as, hand over hand, he pulled them both towards land. To his immense relief, he could now touch the bottom of the river. He released his grip on the branch and trudged towards land, collapsing in the mud when he reached his destination. He lay on his back, panting and coughing up water as he slowly came to realize how sore every muscle of his body was.

* * *

Ma Krammel couldn't get a wink of sleep that night. Instead, she stood outside the door, anxiously waiting for Brink and Keetch to return. When the sun rose, she assumed the worst and broke out into sobs. She blamed herself for not saying anything to Brink. It was her fault that she was just too frightened to hurry after them when they fled. Now she had no idea where they were and if they were coming home at all.

_I've lost my husband, my children, and my sister to vermin. Not these young ones too._ Just then she heard a rustle in the distance.

"Who's there?" she called out as she reached for a large branch, "If you come near, I won't hold back," she threatened. When she heard a familiar voice reply, she was too overcome with joy to speak.

"It's okay," Keetch said, "It's just us. We're back."

"Keetch? Brink?" she exclaimed before she rushed to them and welcomed them with a tearful embrace. "Oh goodness! I was so worried! When you were gone so long I just assumed that the worst had happened."

"It's okay," Brink said, "We won. We're safe now."

* * *

**Two Days Later**

Ma Krammel was now more busy in tending to their wounds rather than cooking. Apparently, the tip of Keetch's ear was lost in the battle and Brink had a gash in his arm. Other than that, they had several cuts, scrapes, and bruises and the elderly vole kept mentioning how lucky they were to get out of the gruesome situation "unscathed". However, when she was ready for the violent retelling of the battle, she plagued them with questions.

"Who was the ferret?"

"What was he doing here?"

"What did he look like?"

And many others. According to Keetch, after resting on the shore, he managed to untangle the chains from Skeel's neck and shoved his carcass out into the river, hoping that the ferret would never be seen again and his memory would fade. Once again, all was well in their own little house and everything seemed back to normal- except the fact that Brink had become rather cocky and proud of his "battle scars". Keetch on the other hand, was resentful towards Brink and blamed him for his ear.

Ma Krammel had become particularly fussy around them lately, as she insisted that they stay indoors for a while, just in case. The both of them didn't mind, as she promised to make it up to them with apple pie for every day they behaved. However, it was on the next morning that Ma Krammel behaved quite odd, waking them up early in the morning and insisting that they go pick berries.

Not only that, but the fact that she insisted upon them carrying all sorts of provisions was a bit strange as well. To each of them, she gave a large bag with jackets, food, and even some flint.

"What's all this for? Are we having some sort of picnic?" Brink inquired.

"Not at all," she replied cheerfully, "I just want you to go pick some berries and maybe some apples before winter strikes."

"Oh," Brink replied, pleased at the thought of berry tarts and even better, apple pies. She sent them off, almost shoving them out the door. As they turned to wave goodbye, Brink thought, for some reason or another, that she seemed somewhat sad but he shrugged it off and turned his thoughts to fresh apple pies.

* * *

After several hours of hiking through the forest and collecting nuts, berries, mushrooms, and apples, Brink decided that he couldn't possibly wait any longer and insisted that they return.

"I don't care that I already ate three apples. I want to go back to see if she's baked us any surprise," he insisted.

"No," Keetch replied, "We should just keep foraging. We never know when the soonest winter storm will come around. Besides, she told us to get all we could."

"You've always got to argue with me," Brink scowled, "Isn't this much enough?" He held out his overflowing basket to Keetch.

"I don't know," Keetch replied, "I still have some room in my basket." Brink looked at it, inspecting it closely.

"That's because you've been picking berries and stuff very slowly. You've been acting quite weird- suspicious or something. What are you doing anyway? Stuffing your mouth while I'm not looking?" he scoffed, "You've been doing that since we started and now the sun's nearly set. It's like you've been stalling... or... something..." Then the idea dawned on him. He dropped his basket of berries and his bag of provisions on the floor.

"Keetch! We have to go NOW!" He pulled at Keetch, dragging him along as he ran towards the house. Every bit of his instincts screamed danger and he prayed that his instincts were wrong, just this once.

"Ow! Ow! Ow!" Keetch protested, "Stop it!" But Brink wasn't paying attention. All his mind focused on was getting to the house. That was all he needed to do. Eventually, he noticed that Keetch had stopped fighting against him and was running in the same direction with a worried expression on his face. This only proved to worry Brink more as he picked up the pace, and by the time they reached the house, the sun had already set.

"Ma Krammel! Ma Krammel! Where are you?!" Brink called out in panic. There was no answer and everything was quiet. They then dashed into the house and saw the terrible state it was in. First they noticed the broken dishes scattered throughout the floor, then they noticed the toppled mess of furniture, then, worse, the saw a bloodied little heap in the corner.

"No! NO!" Brink rushed to her side, tears streaming down his face as he knelt down beside her and hugged her lifeless body. "Why? Who could've done this? She never hurt anyone. She would never hurt anyone," he sobbed. He turned as he felt a paw on his shoulder.

"What is it Keetch?" he yelled in hysteria, "Want to tell me why you didn't stop them? You're on their side! You betrayed us! Even though you had the good life, you still wanted to cause misery, strife, death..."

"We can't leave her here. We should give her a burial," Keetch muttered, probably to himself.

"... Damn you, Keetch," Brink cursed under his breath.

* * *

It was the darkest part of night, when the stars and moon were shining their brightest and the caressing breeze flowed through the trees to make that gentle rushing sound that set the mind at ease. It was in an area, close to the small house, that the fox and the otter stood with bowed heads before a mound of dirt with a simple wooden cross upon it.

"I know this grave's too simple," Brink murmered, "and I would decorate it with flowers, but not many grow in the fall. I want to thank you for all you've done for us. You'll be in our hearts forever."

"Thank you," Keetch echoed.

"Damn it!" Brink cursed as he leaned against a tree, pounding it with his fists, "It's all my fault! I can't protect anyone! I can't keep pretending that I'm some- sort of- hero! It's all a fantasy! Some dream that only exists in legends! It doesn't matter who I try to help! They always die- the slaves, Ma Krammel, _everyone_!" He pressed his forehead to the tree. "I can't protect anyone," he muttered, "I vow that I'll get those vermin that killed her. When I cross paths with them, I'll skin them alive!"

"Brink," Keetch spoke up, "I don't think she would want you to ruin her memory with these vows of hatred. She... loved peace and believed in the goodness of everybeast."

"...I guess... I was too worked up over my revenge that I forgot the _real_ reason for fighting. It's to protect others... huh," Brink replied as tears rolled off his cheeks, "I guess it's a fault of mine then... Keetch, do you think it's my fault that she died? If I didn't fight that mangy maggot-bag of a ferret, do you think she would've lived?"

"No, they would've found her eventually," Keetch lied. This seemed to calm Brink down a little.

"I suppose we'd better keep moving on," Brink murmered, "There's nothing for us here. Let's go back to get our stuff." Leaving one last glance at the grave, they began their journey once more, this time with more experience in the ways of the world. As he walked along, Keetch looked behind to see the last glimpse of that only place he'd ever called "home", as it would quite possibly be the last time he ever saw it.

**Flashback**

_"Keetch! Keetch, wake up!"_

_"Wha-?"_

_"Shush!" Ma Krammel interrupted, "Listen to me, Keetch. Don't tell Brink this. I'm worried for him."_

_"What are you talking about?" Keetch asked as he rubbed his eyes._

_"Listen to me, today while I was picking berries, I noticed two sets of footprints by the riverbank. They were probably the same ones you saw a few days ago- fresh ones, and they must be somewhere near here. Don't tell Brink... I'm- I'm worried... I'm worried about how he'd react this time. You two almost got killed the last time. They probably found the body of that ferret and came up this way... They'll come here today, I know it. I-" she turned as Brink rolled in his sleep. Once she was sure he was still asleep, she continued._

_"I'm going to pack provisions for both of you before you leave. I'll tell Brink it's a foraging trip. Take him far away and stall him for as long as possible. I don't want him to get into another fight." Keetch was silent at first, taking all the information in._

_"All right. We need provisions for me, Brink, you-"_

_"Not me-"_

_"What?!" he barely kept his voice down._

_"Shhhhhh!" the elderly vole shushed, keeping an eye on the otter, "I can't go. I'm far too old and you'll never travel far with me around... besides, this is where my heart is, this is where I grew up. This is where my family lived and I want to die here, where all my precious memories are."_

_"No. You can't stay here. It's suicide!"_

_"Keetch," she clapped a paw on his shoulder comfortingly, "This is my decision and I think I'm ready. Please do what I ask of you. Please?"_

_"... Yes ma'am..." Keetch answered hesitantly._

_"Thank you Keetch. Now listen, once this is all over, head southeast. There, you'll see a giant mountain called Salamandastron. I want the two of you to go there. You'll be safe there... You know Keetch, you're a goodbeast and I see a lot of good in you. It's because of you, that I can believe that there can be good found in everybeast."_

_"That's not true," Keetch swallowed, "I've killed a lot of innocent beasts in the past and-"_

_"But you have a chance to change," she smiled reassuringly, "and I want you to promise me that you and Brink would look after each other. We were like a family, the three of us. Even if it just came down to two, it should still remain a family. Promise?"_

_"... Promise." _

* * *

**Wow, that chapter took me forever! Yeah, I really wanted to make it up to you guys for not updating in a while. If you don't remember, Skeel was the captain of the ship. Pretty sad chapter huh? Made me kinda cry ;( By the way, what did you think about the fight scene? So now we get more into the character development of Brink, where he realizes that it takes more to being a warrior than being strong and brave. Then there's Keetch, who acknowledges Ma Krammel as a mother-figure and realizes that there's some good in him after all. They're going to Salamandastron now!!**

**Special Thanks to Foxstar24, Mangahottie740, and Red Squirrel Writer for reviewing my last chapter and all the other chapters before that. :)**

**Any _constructive_ criticism, reviews, comments, ideas are appreciated! So please review or something. Thanks for reading. :D**


	9. The Rebellious and Headstrong

**Three-day weekend :D Thanks to all of you who reviewed the last chapter (Awesomewriter123 & MangaHottie740). As for those of you who didn't, shame on you! Just Kidding :D Thanks for reading it anyway. What I'm curious about is why more people have read Chapter 7 (what I think to be my weakest chapter) than most of the other chapters. Is there some sort of quality about it you guys happen to like? Is it because when you were reading Chapter 8, you forgot what happened before so you had to recap? Anyway, enough rambling and here's Chapter 9.**

* * *

**The Rebellious and Headstrong**

* * *

All was well at Redwall Abbey as the sun began to sink into the distant horizon and the birds began to return to the safety of their trees. All was peaceful in the abbey as several of the abbeybeasts settled down in one of the rooms to enjoy some evening tea.

"Well all was peaceful today and I'm proud to say that there wasn't any incident this time," Wayrin said in relief as she sipped some of her mint tea in a delicate fashion. A dainty and proper fieldmouse, she was small and soft-spoken, oftentimes too formal towards even her closest friends.

A hedgehog gave her a sympathetic look as she took a seat next to Wayrin, taking a big bite out of some delicious hazelnut cake. There in the same room, was a hare, a few burly otters, a mole, and an elderly mouse with tiny spectacles that always had to be adjusted.

"Well he seems to be making an improvement," the hedgehog offered some input, "At least he's trying to make a difference."

"I suppose, Pallaprin, but I don't think this peace and quiet will last too long," Wayrin set wiped the corner of her mouth with a napkin, "Although he's trying to become more proper, it's really a burden for him- I can tell. He just can't stand it."

"Hmph! Wayrin, the sooner that young scoundrel grows up, the better this abbey would be," the elderly mouse, Agatha said none too lightly, "Why, just the other day he trampled some of my beautiful flowers and I don't expect him to be a proper gentlebeast the next day! Wayrin, the only reason why he's striving to make a difference is because you were crying the other day!"

"I think that's enough, Sister Agatha," the hare, Abbess Linette put in, "You can't blame the young rascal. I, for one, admire his spirit. The boy's got potential, I say. If he were a hare, the captains at the Long Patrol would be racing here right now to enlist them into their army... I mean... er..."

Obviously, the previous statement hadn't seemed too pleasing to Wayrin, who sighed and looked more depressed than before. Silence dominated the room for several minutes until Sister Agatha's sharp voice broke the awkward atmosphere.

"Raller, you use your spoon this instant! Why, haven't I taught you any table manners when you were no more than a dibbun?"

"Ouch!" The Skipper of otters hastily put down his empty bowl as he rubbed his paw, "You didn't have to hit me with a spoon ma'am, I was simply drinking-"

"_Slurping_ your shrimp and hotroot soup out of the bowl!" she scolded. The few otters that were in the room snickered at the spectacle of their fearless leader being scolded like an otterpup, that is, until the haughty mousewife glared in their direction. This glare didn't deter Abbess Linette, as she was laughing uncontrollably.

Suddenly, a few faint, but audible noises interrupted their laughter. _Crack! Clack! Crack!_ Several of the beasts crowded around the window to get a proper view, but they only saw a few figures in the distance.

"Oh no," Wayrin moaned as she ran out of the room and towards the stairs. When she had finally reached the abbey grounds, she saw just what she had feared in the first place. Her teenage son was once again sparring, this time with a stick instead of a staff.

"Come on! Keep your guard up, Tarka! And keep your eyes open!" she heard him yell to his sparring companion, a young gangly otter, who was staggering backward as he defended himself from the hammering blows the mouse threw at him.

"Bartholomelo! Put down that stick at once!" she called out to the young mouse. Unfortunately, he had made no indication of hearing her.

"BARTHOLOMELO!" she yelled. Having heard her this time, he turned his head in her direction just as Tarka gave a swing. In a blink of an eye, young Bartholomelo was on his knees, paw over his cheek.

"Melo! Melo! I'm so sorry!" Tarka dropped his stick and pushed the paw away to check the damage.

"It's nothing!" he protested as he waved the otter off.

"Bartholomelo! Bartholomelo, are you alright. Here, let me help you up!" his mother said as she tried to pull him upright.

"Stop it!" he said as he pushed her arms off of him, "I don't need help." Just then, a large badger appeared in the abbey grounds and was already stomping towards them, already in a cross mood as she knew who the source of the trouble was. She roughly hauled the mouse up to his feet and dragged him towards the infirmary.

"Stop struggling or else I'd really give you something for Sister Mirril to take care of!" she barked. Although he immediately ceased his resistance, he gave a scowl and glared at everybeast that he passed by. When they reached the infirmary, Sister Mirril knew just what to do immediately and went to fetch her supplies, for this was a common occurrence here at the abbey.

"Goodness, Melo, what have you done to yourself now?" she said in astonishment as she rubbed some salve onto his cheek. Under the watchful eye of the badger, Meles, the young mouse didn't dare say a word.

"Excuse me! Excuse me, please!" Wayrin said as she elbowed her way past the crowd that was blocking the door.

"Oh no," Melo gave a groan before Meles shot him a warning glance.

"Barth-o-lo-melo!" Wayrin exclaimed as she tried to sound as stern and frightening as possible, "I have told you a _thousand _times, no weapons, no training, and most importantly, _no sparring_! What have you got to say for yourself, young mouse?"

"Well, this wouldn't have happened if you didn't distract me!" Melo argued.

"Stop this nonsense! You promised me you would try not to do any of this, and you can't last three days, Bartholomelo- three days! Why can't you just settle down and act like a proper abbeybeast?" she scolded as tears started welling up in her eyes. Barthomelo looked down at the red sandstone floor, refusing to meet his mother's gaze.

"So, you young scamp," Abbess Linette showed up, "You've gotten yourself in quite a fix again, eh?" The hare gave an exasperated sigh as the mouse stubbornly kept his mouth shut.

"What impudence!" Sister Agatha exclaimed.

"You'm best be quiet marm," Foremole Dirrug whispered, "Moind that you don' make matters wurse." Sister Agatha gave a huff in response, but heeded his advice.

"So what's the damage, Sister Mirril?" Abbess Linette inquired.

"Uh... not too much, just some bruises Mother Abbess," she replied. The room was silent as the audience awaited the Abbess's verdict until finally, the abbess decided on the right words.

"Melo," she said sternly, "I believe it to be true when I say that the entire abbey has been patient with you and your misconduct. Although I understand your feelings and your adventurous nature- and believe me, I used to be just like you- I agree with your mother when she says that these actions only disrupt the peace."

"But you were a warrior once! You were in the Long Patrol- _the elite hare battalion_!" Melo argued, keeping in mind not to be disrespectful.

"That's true, Melo, but that was a long time ago and this is Redwall Abbey, a place of peace, and I will not have any fighting or weaponry within these walls!" she replied adamantly, almost daring Melo to say more. To her satisfaction, the mouse didn't say anything.

"I don't think that extra bookwork will be effective anymore," she continued slowly, "Therefore, you're to work in the cellar until the Fall Feast and even then, you're not to attend the special seasonal event."

"I don't care," Melo replied stubbornly, trying to seem emotionless, though one could easily see the hurt and anger in his eyes.

"Then I know you don't mind missing the festivities," Meles said as she and most of the other abbeybeasts left the infirmary, leaving him alone with his mother and Sister Mirril.

* * *

Meanwhile, it was raining in the Northwestern woods of Mossflower as Brink and Keetch took shelter under a small overhang near the path. While they were waiting for the rain to pass, Keetch began digging through their bags of provisions, trying to figure out how to ration them. Brink, however, decided spend his time less productively, as he sat out in the rain, hugging his knees as he stared out into space.

Ignoring him, Keetch tried on one of the jackets that Ma Krammel had packed for them and was content to know that it fit perfectly. Not only that, but she had adjusted them specificially and with detail. She had cut the sleeves and added buttons to them so that they could be easily worn.

After calculating the provisions, Keetch decided to settle down for something to eat. As the taste of blueberry tarts filled his mouth, a sudden wave of sadness overcame him as he savored the deliciously familiar taste. He finished quickly though, and noticed that Brink hadn't had anything to eat all day.

"Hey, you want any food," Keetch offered hesitantly. Brink shook his head in response.

"Suit yourself then," Keetch replied nonchalantly, "More for me." Time idly passed them by as they rested and filled their canteens with rainwater. Then several hours passed and the storm gave no indication of ceasing. Keetch gave a frustrated sigh as he lay down and noted Brink's state of depression. He didn't know why, but his companion's behavior irked him.

"You haven't moved from that spot since we got here," he said in an aggitated tone. Just then, Brink gave a loud sneeze, making Keetch jump.

"Punishing yourself like this isn't healthy and it won't bring her back," Keetch said, choosing his words carefully, "You're going to get sick, and that means that it'll spread to me, so you should get over here." Brink glanced at him listlessly and he scooted towards shelter.

"Here," Keetch said as he reached into the pack and handed a scarf and a jacket over to him. "These should keep you warm. Just don't pass your sickness over to me." Brink was speechless and quite surprised by the sudden act of kindness before he realized that it was only out of Keetch's interest. Nonetheless, he accepted them.

As he looped the scarf around his neck, he noticed something odd about Keetch. Something was quite strange about his appearance, but he couldn't find out what was different. Then it hit him when he saw a small patch of white on the fox's side.

"Whoa!" Brink screamed as he leapt backward, colliding with the wall of the overhang. Startled, Keetch whirled around and stood up and cursed loudly as his head met the ceiling of the overhang.

"What, Brink? What?!" he yelled.

"What's wrong with your fur? Whatever disease you've got, stay away from me!" Brink yelled, waving his arms wildly as he scrambled backward.

"My... _fur_?"

"Yes, your _fur_! Don't you see that white patch over _there_?!" Brink pointed, indicating the spot of "infection". Quickly, Keetch inspected his fur for a few moments and noticed that his fur was a lighter color than before and he now had several patches of white.

"What are you talking about? This is normal. Every Snow Fox has his fur change from brown to white near winter."

"Normal? _Normal_? No, no- that's not normal!"

"Wait a second, you mean to tell me that your fur doesn't change color?"

"Of course not, halfwit!" Brink yelled, taken aback by the new information. Despite his yelling, Brink calmed down a bit and became less skeptical of Keetch's explanations as he inspected the fur with fascination. After a few moments, Brink was calm enough to talk.

"So... it's normal for your fur to change like this?" Brink asked.

"Yes. Is it normal for your fur to be brown- even in winter?" Keetch questioned. Brink nodded in response and another wave of silence continued before Brink started chuckling softly to himself. Just then, the rain suddenly cleared and they continued their journey to Salamandastron, traveling quickly to compensate for their wasted time.

The very next day, they reached a place that they had never thought they would imagine. It smelled foul and the ground was wet and muddy and the trees towered majestically, casting menacing shadows around the land. Furthermore, there was no sight of where the strange land ended.

"Should we go back?" Keetch asked, scanning the area for anything dangerous.

"No," Brink licked his lips nervously, "Let's keep going. I believe it's called a... _marsh_?" He said the word "marsh" as if it were truly alien to him, a word he had never needed to say before.

"A marsh?"

"It fits the description of what the sailors told me," Brink replied, relishing his moment of resourcefulness, "They told me that they weren't too dangerous, as long as you minded to keep an eye out for toads- the slimiest creatures- lowest of the low."

"Toads?" Keetch asked.

"Don't you know anything, Keetch?" Brink snapped.

"Well there are never any _toads_ in the far North!" Keetch countered.

"That's your problem!" Brink replied arrogantly.

"So what are they, exactly?" Keetch asked, taking a mental note not to ask further questions.

"Hm... I don't know..."

"But you were just yelling at me for not knowing what a toad was!" Keetch retorted.

"Well I know that they're slimy!" Brink argued back.

"Well are we going to go into this miserable pit of hell or not?!"

"I said it's not too dangerous, didn't I? Then let's go!" Determined not to lose face or show any fear, they marched straight into the dense marsh, not taking a look back.

Had they done so, they would have noticed a slimy, elongated body with a set of bulging eyes and a writhing tail.

"Ssssshhhhhhh... food..." the lizard hissed softly to itself.

* * *

**Wow, this chapter lasted longer than I thought. Well, as you may have noticed, this chapter is more focused on what's going on at Redwall rather than Brink & Keetch's storyline. So, what do you think of the new characters? Just to clarify, Bartholomelo is nicknamed "Melo" for short and it's pronounced Barth-ah-low-may-low. It's kind of a mouthful, which explains why he prefers his nickname and he's also another teenage character. And yes, a hare is an Abbess for once... it's also pretty tough to come up with the mole-dialect. It's always hard to understand what they're saying!**

**If you didn't know, Keetch is an Arctic fox. Their fur color does change to white during winter and changes back to brown in the spring (yes, it's not always winter in the Arctic).**

**Also, in case you haven't noticed, Brink and Keetch have stopped referring each other as "fox" and "you" and now they're referring to each other by names. They started doing this since Chapter 8.**

**By the way, here are the relative ages of some of the characters: Brink 17; Keetch 19; Melo 15 or 16  
Yes, I know they're all teens, but they're more fun to write about since they get so emotional and angsty. There will be heroines, non-teen heroes, villains, and squirrels (for all you squirrel-lovers out there) that will be revealed in later chapters and they will each have a major role, so stick around ;)**

**REVIEW and tell me what you think. Any ideas, comments, and/or constructive criticism would be great! See ya next week!**


	10. Squirm

**Alright guys, thanks to all of those who have read and reviewed the last chapter. Special thanks to Foxstar24, Mangahottie740, Awesomewriter123, and Red Squirrel Writer for their support!**

* * *

**Squirm**

* * *

"Far to the North... one who fell... heed the words... written in stone..." A small hedgehog sang softly to herself. She was the oldest of the dibbuns in Redwall, yet she was quite an enigma to everyone. This perplexed her mother, Pallaprin, who always tried to encourage her to play with other children and be more talkative. Ironically, most mothers at Redwall envied her situation, as they could hardly keep up with their young ones.

But not only did young Aduna prefer quiet solitude, but she had a tendency to spend her days humming quietly to herself. Nobeast had actually heard her sing outloud, anyway, for she always kept to mumbling to herself, as if still coming up with the words to a song.

"Aduna, will you move already?" Melo said sharply, "Your endless babbling is annoying! Just what are you doing?" Melo was in a terrible mood that day, since he'd been spending his days doing nothing more than chores. Despite the fact that Abbess Linette had only ordered him to work in the cellars, Sister Agatha was persistent and pressured his mother into punishing him further.

"Sorry," Aduna whispered hesitantly, "But I can remember the words better here." She looked downward in embarrasment awkwardly as Melo continued scrubbing the floor.

"Well do it somewhere else, would you?" he replied, his tone unchanged, "It's annoying." In response, Aduna, with her head bowed, muttered another apology and shuffled out of Cavern Hole. It wasn't until she left that Melo realized what he had done.

"Aduna! Aduna, wait!" he quickly got off his knees and ran after her. He hadn't run very far when he slipped and fell flat on his back.

"Ouch! Stupid floor! Stupid Abbey rules! Stupid Sister Agatha, that huffy old windbag!" he muttered as he sat up, rubbing the back of his head. His mutterings were then answered by a barely-stifled giggle.

"Well, seeing that you're already talking like that, I suppose you're alright," Sister Mirril offered her paw. Melo ignored her polite gesture and stood up by himself.

"Why's the floor like this anyway?" he complained.

"Melo," Mirril playfully gave an impression of Sister Agatha, "You wouldn't have slipped if you had at least completed such a simple task properly! You're supposed to scrub and dry the floor, Bartholomelo, scrub and_ dry_ the floor! Now do it in front of me so that I can see to it that you have learned from my advice. Scrub and dry!" Melo chuckled softly as he inspected the quality of his work.

"Well there's no denying that I actually cleaned the place," he defended himself, "I just happened to forget the last step. I mean, I'm just one mouse! I can't scrub all of Cavern Hole by myself!"

"Well I hope you've learned your lesson," Mirril smiled, "And by the way, why were you running anyway?"

"Huh? Oh I was just chasing after Aduna," Melo had completely forgotten about her.

"Chasing Aduna? But I thought you didn't really care much for dibbuns," Mirril replied, quite confused. It was true that Melo didn't really care much for dibbuns, in fact, there were few things in the abbey that annoyed him more. One of which was Sister Agatha- oh how he despised her.

He didn't hate them, contrary to whatever Sister Agatha says in her gossip, he just found them bothersome and preferred to keep his distance. This set him apart from the rest of the abbey dwellers, who expressed boundless love for their young ones.

"Well, I just made her cry. She's so sensitive all the time!" he replied tersely.

"Melo," Mirril sighed, "You know if she tells on you, Sister Agatha will use that as another excuse to punish you further." At this statement, Melo ran down the hall and at a moment's debate, chose to turn left.

"She went the other way!" Mirril called out to him. Luckily, he heard her, came back, and made a right. Mirril smiled at his crazy antics and continued walking down Cavern Hole.

She was always fascinated by Redwall's tapestry and the wonderful stories they told. Every now and then, important events were still being added to that vast collection of masterpieces. There was still quite a bit of empty space in Cavern Hole, as the tapestry was meant to encircle the entire area.

She stopped at the most breathtaking and ancient part of the tapestry. It was none other than Martin the Warrior, founder and greatest hero of Redwall Abbey. She then noticed the abandoned bucket of water, several washcloths on the floor, and a small dry section near the wall, probably where Melo had scrubbed around Aduna as she hummed to herself.

"Melo, how would you ever be able to cope without me?" She smiled and sighed as she rolled up her sleeves and grabbed a washcloth.

* * *

Meanwhile, Melo had just caught up with Aduna, who was sitting under a tree in the courtyard. Once he spotted her, he allowed himself to catch his breath as he walked towards her nonchalantly. She didn't seem to notice him, as she kept her gaze on a small pink flower she had in her paw and appeared to be humming to herself again.

She had only noticed him when he had taken a seat next to her, keeping in mind not to be too close. She stopped humming immediately and snapped her attention to him.

"Um... Aduna," Melo said softly, refusing to look her in the eye, "I didn't mean to say what I said back there." He paused and waited for some kind of response- a "it's alright", a nod, shake of the head, anything. But she just sat there like a statue, staring at that little pink flower she held in her paw. Giving an inward sigh, he continued.

"So I'm sorry. Would you... mind not telling anyone about what happened in Cavern Hole?" To his relief, she nodded her head in response.

"Thank you," he gave an awkward smile, "You're my favorite dibbun, you know that?" Bewildered, she glanced up at him as he got back on his footpaws and started walking back inside. When he was gone and she was finally alone again, she proceeded to sing softly to herself, having had finally remembered the words by heart.

"When the quiet of the storm does rise  
And waken the guardian warrior's sleep.  
He comes and speaks through willing ears  
Of Redwall's advancing demise.  
But fate is not truly written in stone,  
So call upon the one who fell,  
And he who hears the calling of the bell.  
Far to the North the dangers lie,  
Where pain and suffering in life do cry.  
See the warrior's tale unfold,  
Heed the words of the warrior of old."

* * *

Meanwhile, back at the swamp, Brink and Keetch were still picking their way through the marsh, keeping in mind not to step in the mud.

"I still say we should've gone _around_ it," Keetch complained as he followed after Brink's path.

"Will you just shut up already?" Brink said, keeping himself concentrated on which was the best route in this maze of mud, water, and semi-dry land.

Keetch scowled and muttered curses under his breath as he cast another weary glance over his shoulder. Despite Brink's reassurance that there was nothing to fear, Keetch was not yet fully convinced. Every part of the marsh was relentless and inhospitable, a factor that didn't ease his suspicions about the place.

Every part of his insticts, he noted, seemed to sense something following them, but he could never quite find out what. He groaned to himself as his footpaw slipped and he was covered in mud up to his knee. He knew he couldn't be able to convince Brink, who was too proud to see that he was making a mistake.

Just as Keetch was contemplating his predicament, he absentmindedly bumped into Brink, who had halted in his tracks. Steadying himself after the impact, Keetch looked up to see some of the marsh's undergrowth rustling. Brink immediately took an offensive stance, looking left and right.

Keetch, frightened by everything in the hellish marsh, turned around only to find a similar situation there as well. They were now trapped and completely surrounded by unknown enemies in this alien world.

"Are they toads?" Keetch swallowed nervously. Brink didn't answer, but continued to keep a calm exterior, though Keetch could see right through it easily. Then, as if on que, their enemies revealed themselves. They were an assortment of lizards, salamanders, and toads, who slithered, squirmed and hopped their way.

Keetch was frozen on the spot, both out of horror and curiousity. These creatures were nothing like anything he had ever seen before. They had no fur and were smooth and slimy, just as Brink had said. But he was wrong about one thing- they were something to fear, that is, if they were in a group. They were quite large, and stood up to about half of Keetch's height.

Their large, bulbous eyes seemed to stare hungrily at him as their tongues flicked in and out as they advanced towards them slowly and arduously.

The lizards, on the other hand, were just as strange to him and they seemed less powerful, but faster. They too flicked their tongues in and out in a similar fashion as the toads. Some were more scaly than others and they came in more of a variety of sizes and colors. Their long tails lashed back and forth in anticipation as they wriggled towards them.

"These are toads, lizards, and salamanders," Brink whispered to him.

"You never mentioned the last two!" Keetch replied in a shaky voice.

Finally, the creatures stopped. They waited for a moment, staying perfectly still as they looked their prisoners over. Then, one of the toads began speaking in a slow, deep, croaking voice.

"You... prisoners... follow." He then turned around and started hopping back where he came from while the other creatures came closer to them, trying to herd them in that direction. Keetch then awaited Brink's move but the stubborn otter stood his ground. Keetch reluctantly decided not to resist his captors and took a tentative step forward when Brink suddenly spoke.

"Make me move, you ugly slimeball!" Brink spat. Keetch winced, wishing his companion would start using his head and stop getting invovled in fights. In response, the creatures charged at them, grabbing them with their cold, slimy, and scaly hands, pushing them.

Brink started to fight them. He fought savagely and took several of them down easily but they were just too numerous and it wasn't long until Brink found himself completely exhausted and wounded in several places. He was now without any option and was dragged around in the miserable marsh.

He didn't give up, though, as he then commenced an onslaught of insults at his captors, who ignored him. Finally, they had reached their destination and the creatures left them and retreated to the periphery of the area, encasing their prisoners in a circle.

But there, squatting before them was a massive toad which stared at them hungrily. He was massive- standing at twice their height, he was much wider than tall, and he was extremely fat. Brink noticed with disgust, a toad leg sticking out of the corner of the toad's wide, ugly mouth.

"Ksssshhh... an offering, Your Highnezzz..." A lizard said, bowing low. The toad gave a low croaking sound and swallowed, making the smaller toad's leg disappear.

"King Bull Toad... is pleased... with food..." he croaked as he hopped once, splattering Brink and Keetch with muddy water. They scrambled backwards from the horrifying toad while the other creatures looked on eagerly. In a flash, the toad's tongue shot out and gave Keetch a rough lick, making the fox scream and whimper as he continued scrambling backward, this time in an even more frantic speed.

"Tastes... good..." the toad croaked, obviously amused by Keetch's frightened response, "I'll eat... you... first."

Brink was astounded by the sheer length of his ropelike tongue as he continued scrambling backward. He hated that thing, the way it ate its kind, the fact that it was a grotesque and hideous sight, and most of all, the fact that he enjoyed seeing the fear in other beasts. That thing _loved_ seeing his prey squirm and squeal before he consumed them.

Brink saw the hopelessness in his predicament. He was unarmed, outnumbered, and without any energy. Then, to his surprise, Keetch stopped screaming and spoke to him. He no longer seemed frightened out of his wits, but focused and determined as he whispered.

"Brink, I have a plan. Listen carefully..."

* * *

**Well how's that for a cliffhanger ending? As you can see, I'm not too good with prophecies (Aduna's song). Yeah, I need to work on stuff like that and I hate poetry... seriously, that stuff lowers my grade _a lot_. Anyway, I hoped you enjoyed this chapter. **

**From now on, I'm going to have at least half of a chapter dedicated to what's going on in Redwall. Of course, there will be some exceptions where I'll have an entire chapter focused on one thing, but that will come later. **

**In the next chapter, I'll intoduce you to a new character. She'll be another warrior hero in the story and she's a squirrel- just for all you squirrel lovers. And she even has a specially customized weapon to boot! Redwall's autumn feast will finally begin and we'll get more in-depth with the Redwall characters. And Brink and Keetch will execute their escape plan. The chapter will focus more on Brink and Keetch's story this time since they've got a good adventure going. Have any of you guys figured out Keetch's plan yet?**

**OK, thanks to all of you who've read the story. REVIEW with some comments, ideas, corrections, questions, anything. Those who review will get a _brief character summary of any character they want (just ask for it)._ Even the new squirrel character's Character Bio is available. I will not give away any really important information or spoilers but I will give descriptions of the characters' personalities or answer any simple questions.**

**Oh yeah, before I forget, here are some of the ages of some of the characters:**

**Abbess Linette: mid- 50s; Meles: same age as Linette; Wayrin: 40ish; Sister Agatha: old (70ish); Sister Mirril: 23 Aduna: 5**

**P.S. Over the summer I'll be out of the country for 6 weeks so depending on how good the internet is over there, I may be gone for a long time. By the way, I'M OUT OF SCHOOL ON WEDNESDAY!! YAY SUMMER!! :D**


	11. Pandemonium

**OK, as I said before: "I'LL BE GONE FOR ABOUT 6 WEEKS AT THE MOST. THIS COULD BE MY LAST CHAPTER FOR A LONG LONG TIME." OK, there, so I'll be gone for about 6 weeks at the most because my summer vacation is in another country and I don't think the internet connection is working too well in Malaysia. I'll try my best though. Summer's just started for me and I'm loving it! :)**

* * *

**Pandemonium**

* * *

From the Records of Redwall Abbey's Archives taken Ten Seasons Ago:

_"Redwall has gone through much times of hardship so I shouldn't be the one to complain. It's withstood the plague of wars, death, misery, battles, and still maintains its peaceful nature through it all. I have no doubt in my heart that it will even withstand the test of time. However, although I'm sure that our peaceful way of life and our teachings will continue, I'm worried about many of the lives here at Redwall._

_It's been several weeks now since several of us have had signs of an illness, and it's been spreading. We've lost two more lives today and I don't know how many more will leave this world before night befalls us. Even I have been feeling quite under the weather as well. If only we had known that it was something serious sooner- but of course nobody could blame poor Sister Rina. Redwall has never had any knowledge of this illness and yet she blames herself. She and her daughter have been doing all they could for the abbey and they have been a tremendous help._

_I worry for Abbess Cadencia, though. Before this mysterious illness struck Redwall, it was quite clear how her age was catching up to her. Now, she's become even more frail and I fear that her health will fail her by the end of the week. Despite Sister Rina's constant attempts to heal her, she refuses to accept any treatment. _

_'My duty as abbess is to make sure that the abbeybeasts are safe from harm. The others are young and have a bright future ahead of them. As abbess I have to put everyone else's lives before mine, you see? To accept any medicine now would be an insult to the Abbey itself!' she would say. _

_There's still hope, though. Brother Bartholomew is organizing an expedition to the North to find medicine. I remember another expedition to find medicine in Redwall's history. It was the otter, Thrugg, who journeyed North to find the medicine to cure the Dry-Ditch Fever. Brother Bartholomew will leave tomorrow and I wish him the best of luck. _

_Redwall Abbey's Recorder,_

_Quimby_

* * *

"I have a plan," Keetch repeated hurriedly, "Just play along." They didn't have much time now, as they were about to be swallowed down by the gigantic toad.

"What?" Brink asked as, to his shock, Keetch collapsed into the mud lying perfectly still. Brink swallowed nervously, hoping that he wasn't unconscious. Then, to his relief, the fox started twitching and making short gasping sounds. His relief turned into horror, however, when Keetch started screaming in agony and yelling out garbled words.

"Somebody! Somebody help me! Please! No! No! NOOO! The pain! The _pain_!" he screamed as he started writhing in the mud. The marsh creatures were just as surprised by this sudden outburst and took several nervous paces back. Their leader, however, stood his ground and watched the spectacle with interest.

"Keetch! Keetch! What're ya doin'?!" Brink called out, confused and horrified at the sight. He knew that Keetch was capable of nervous breakdowns, but this? No, this was as if he had completely lost every fragment of sanity he had within him. Speechless, Brink couldn't do anything but watch as the fox continued everyone else watched in shocked silence.

"Help me! My fur! My _fur_ is turning _white_! I've got the disease! I've got it and it's driving me mad! Hahahahahaha!" Keetch cackled wildly as he splashed in the muddy water, his body convulsing in weak spasms. Brink continued staring on in horror as Keetch continued his insane babbling.

"Brink! Brink! _Help me out here_! I can't deal with this disease! The pain is tearing me apart! _My fur is turning white, Brink_! I think it might be the _disease_!" Keetch screamed at the top of his lungs while he rubbed off some mud on his fur, revealing the white splotches on his brown fur. The creatures stared in awe as panicked whispers spread throughout the crowd.

"The fur!"

"Itz white!"

"Impossible!"

"Kill him... now!"

"Get rid of him! Get rid of him!"

Brink, who had been completely confused up to this point, had finally understood what was going on.

"No! N-n-n-n-no!" he stuttered as he turned to the marsh creatures, "Don't leave me with him! Don't let me catch the dreaded disease! Don't let me catch the- er... White-Fur... Death... disease!" He finished with hesitation as he stumbled towards several of the toads, who in turn, scrambled away from his reach.

"Please help me! I think I might have it! You've got to save me!" he wailed as he lunged for another group of marsh creatures, who quickly retreated back a few steps. He looked back at Keetch, who was now a mess of hysteria. He had to bite his tongue to keep himself from laughing.

"It'll turn your eyeballs into jelly!" Brink shouted, "I'll start bleeding from the inside out and I'll be dying of the fever! My fur will fall off and so will my tail! You've gotta help me! You've gotta!" He and Keetch got up to their paws and ran in a staggering motion towards the massive toad, who was now fully convinced of this disease. He leaped back in fear, unintentionally killing two of his servants as he landed directly on top of them.

"You've gotta help me! Don't cast me out! You've gotta help me!" Brink screamed as he lunged wildly at the circle of creatures, who withdrew immediately and flinched at his gaze.

"Get them out of here!" the toad's voice rumbled in its baritone voice. For added effects, Keetch and Brink started tugging at their ears and fur savagely while they let drool start frothing at the corners of their mouths. Uncertain, the creatures stood their ground, hoping that some other creature would finish the job.

"Get them out NOW!" the toad bellowed once more and the creatures hesitatingly did his bidding. The creatures broke their circle around the two, creating a wide exit. Seeing their chance for escape, the pair staggered uncoordinatedly towards the exit, screaming in exaggerated pain and agony.

The marsh creatures, not wanting to disobey their king slithered, hopped, and crawled towards their captives while trying to keep a wide berth. They didn't want to know what would happen to them if they caught the disease.

"Get out! Get out!" they croaked and hissed meekly.

"It's working, mate," Brink whispered under his breath, "they're chasing us out- _alive_!"

"Shut up and keep screaming!" Keetch whispered back with less optimism.

"You can't tell me what to do," Brink muttered, unsure if Keetch had heard the response. Nevertheless, Brink adhered to the wise advice and began moaning and clutching his stomach in exaggerated expressions of agony. They were almost there! The swamp creatures had begun falling farther and farther behind them and they could just smell the fresh air of open plains.

Impatient and desperate to get out, the two abandoned their act and made a sudden mad dash to for the exit. Keetch looked over his shoulder to see if any creature was still following them when he tripped over a tree root.

"Oomf!" he fell flat on his face. Brink, in turn, felt the sharp tug of the chains and, unable to stop himself in time, ended up flat on his back.

"To hell with these chains!" Brink choked the muddy water out of his mouth as he sat up. He was answered by a strangled cry from Keetch behind him. He whipped back in horror to be staring straight at a rotting corpse, bits of flesh still transfixed on the skeleton, the eyes staring forward in terror, its mouth gaping in a silent scream.

The body was ravaged beyond recognition, but it was easily deduced to have been a previous meal of the marsh creatures. Then he noticed several skeletons and rotting bodies of several other marsh creatures scattered around them. He nearly threw up at the sight.

"The bastards! They're cannibals!" Brink gasped.

"We have to get out of here!" Keetch began to panic once again. Snapping out of it, they raced out of the marsh with a new sense of fear. In a few moments, they found themselves out of the dark swamp and in a world of light and open plains of hills and grass.

* * *

"Your Highnezz," one of the lizards began.

"Are they... gone?" the gigantic toad croaked.

"Yez... they juzt left," he lizard replied smoothly, "they're going towardz the Fire Mountain." The toad gave several short, low, gasping sounds. It could have very well been a laugh.

"Yes... they are their problem now..." he cackled to himself. The rest of his subjects slowly caught on to the "laughter", thrilled at the thought of their death trap falling right into their enemies' laps.

Unbeknownst to them, they weren't the only ones laughing at the moment.

* * *

"WaHOO!" Brink yelled as he leaped into the air, "That was amazing! Those nut-brained, warty old toads couldn't get us!" Keetch on the other hand was less enthusiastic and seemed rather traumatized.

"Ah, dry land... and could you just feel the wind?" Brink said as he stretched his arms out and collapsed on his back. Keetch never thought he'd see a completely carefree side to his companion, but this was surely not the time.

"How can you have to energy to talk? My throat hurts from all that screaming," he asked with irritaton.

"Don't know, mate," he replied, "My mom always said I had the loudest and biggest mouth on the entire island!"

"Hmph! We've lost all our provisions thanks to those... _things_!"

"You've got a real problem keeping up the good mood," Brink replied bitterly.

* * *

The nights on the open plains was always comfortingly warm and quiet- in the summer. Unfortunately for them, the exact opposite was true for the colder seasons. Brink cursed under his breath as another bone-chilling wind blasted at him. He wasn't used to this kind of weather. Keetch noted his condition with growing curiousity.

"You aren't... used to this weather?" he asked cautiously now that Brink was no longer in high spirits.

"What do you think!?" he snapped as he hugged his knees and shivered. Of course he's faced the cold before, but that was when he had a home, a fire, and a family to go to. Now there was no fire, no water, and no food. He glared contemptiously at Keetch, who didn't seem bothered at all by the cold, thanks to his growing winter fur.

"Gimme your jacket!" he demanded, his arm stretched toward him expectedly.

"You have your own," Keetch replied stubbornly.

"That's not good enough! You have your white fur to keep you warm!"

"I deserve this jacket! It was thanks to me that we survived out there!"

"It was thanks to my acting that they were convinced!"

"We wouldn't have been through any of that if it wasn't for you and your... _stupidity_!" Keetch argued.

"Last chance! Give it to me now!" Brink snarled. He watched the hesitation and uncertainty in Keetch's eyes for a moment as the fox gave his answer.

"Go jump in a river!"

"That's it!" At that he leaped at Keetch and gave him a quick punch in the face. Recovering quickly, Keetch took the liberty of giving him a sharp kick in the stomach. Instantly, the two were a tangled in a fight as they rolled down the hill, their enraged shouts and curses audible in the atmosphere.

When their rolling at last came to a halt, it was Keetch who was on top of Brink, his fists raised and poised for a punch.

"Hold it right there!" The two of them snapped their attention to the newcomer. Breathless, they strained their eyes to see who was there, but to no avail. He was only visible as a tall, cloaked shadow.

"Now wot's all this then?" the stranger asked in a strange accent. Stumbling to get into a fighting position, they were met with a sharp demand.

"Don't move! We have you surrounded!" They obeyed, but their eyes wandered around to see five other beasts surrounding them. They were all poised for battle, with arrows, swords, and spears pointed at them. The two stared at these figures, completely breathless.

_Just when we get out of trouble, we have new problems,_ Keetch thought to himself.

* * *

**OK, I decided to do something new to this chapter so I added an excerpt from Redwall's archives to provide more background info. I'm planning to add more info every chapter. I'm sorry for those of you who thought that a squirrel character would show up. It's just that I don't want to rush the plot, so I'm trying to get the right pacing. Trust me, it's painful for me to not rush. Maybe next chapter.**

**Last time, I told you guys that if you reviewed, you would get a spoiler-free character bio of any character you want. Of course, I didn't get more reviews, but I enjoyed doing them, so if anyone wants to, please review and I'd still do the character bios. **

**Yes, I'm still having trouble fleshing out Brink and Keetch's personality, ironic since they're the main characters. Well, apparently, Brink is moody, very aggressive, and immature, as he will fight just to get his way. He does, however, display a good side every once in a while. Keetch, although timid in the first chapters, is beginning to get more confident and isn't too afraid to cross Brink anymore. I guess he's gotten to the point where he is more comfortable around Brink.**

**Their escape was also meant to be comical, by the way. Yes, and Brink is kinda slow and comes up with the worst names ever, like the "White Fur Death disease". Also, the swamp creatures didn't try to kill them because they were too afraid to touch them, just making it clear there. **

**Also, Brother Barholomew and Bartholomelo are completely different characters so DON'T GET THEM CONFUSED!! Oh yeah, and I also made a reference to Salamandastron. Who do you think these mysterious guys are and what do you think will happen next chapter? **

**Please Review and stuff! Any constructive ideas, advice, comments, thoughts, etc. would be greatly appreciated!**

**REMINDER: I'M GOING TO BE GONE FOR AT THE MOST 6 WEEKS! I MIGHT NOT BE ABLE TO SQUEEZE IN A CHAPTER FOR NEXT WEEK! **

**Special thanks to all who reviewed: Awsomewriter123, Foxstar24, Adderstar of ValorClan, and Mangahottie740. I wouldn't keep writing without you guys!**


	12. Ignorance Isn't Bliss

**OK, as I said before, _I WILL BE LEAVING FOR A LONG, 6 WEEK VACATION SO I'LL BE GONE FOR A LONG TIME!!_**

**Just a heads-up there for people. Also, thank you for all the reviews Adderstar of Valorclan, MangaHottie740, FoxStar24, and Red Squirrel Writer. I wouldn't keep writing without any reviews from you guys! :)**

* * *

This encounter was completely unplanned for for both sides. It's as if the two had fallen directly in their captors' laps! Brink and Keetch were frozen at the spot, unsure of what to do at the moment. They were, however, sure that their captors weren't peaceful passerbys.

When it became apparent that they weren't going to move, two of the mysterious figures grabbed their captives and hauled them upright. Of course, Keetch wasn't handled all too gently but the fox gave no signs of struggling as they pinned his arms behind him.

"Well would you look at that!" one of them said with interest, "Colonel Hollin, they're chained together!"

"What?!" the beast that first spoke to them was obviously the captain. Then he took off his hood to get a better look. He was a hare, well-past his prime, but his presence itself seemed to leak respect into the atmosphere. To Brink, the long, leaf-shaped ears were unmistakable. Based on the descriptions he'd heard from sailors, he knew exactly what they were.

"Rabbits," Brink breathed with relief. And all time he was worried that they would be something more threatening! The "rabbit", however, seemed to take offense to that remark.

"Rabbit?! Did you just call me a _rabbit_?! Hmph! I think not! Younglings these days! Hmph! I wonder if you have any sense in you at all!" he snorted, obviously upset. Keetch gave a glance at Brink, who shrugged in response.

"And here we were saving you from this here_ vermin_, and this is the "thank you" we get?! The nerve!" His outburst was responded by wild laughter that startled everyone. Colonel Hollin turned toward the culprit and gave a stern glare.

"I hope you know that this concerns you too, Naplin," he huffed.

"Ahem, sorry Colonel," she quickly apologized, though everybeast present could've pictured a grin on her face as she said it.

"Um..." Brink finally had the courage to ask this question, "so if you aren't rabbits, then what are you?"

"Ignorant! You young ones always are!" then he pointed at Keetch with a pace stick, "You there! I can see that we strike fear into your heart! Tell me, do you know who we are?"

Completely caught off guard by the question, the fox remained speechless. He had already deduced that these beasts were insane, from their ridiculously-shaped ears, to their vocabulary and accent. Still, he would never actually say those things to their faces. No, those remarks were too blunt even for Brink to say- at least he hoped so.

"Well? _Well_?" he shouted as he rapped at Keetch's forehead with the pace stick, "I want an answer, you sniveling scum bag! Honestly, doesn't any word spread about the famous Long Patrol anymore?" He muttered the last sentence to himself as he vented his frustrations on the poor fox.

"Um..." Keetch finally mustered up the courage to speak, "You're hares aren't you?" He had, of course encountered hares before. They were plentiful up in the North, where they were known to be Snow Hares. The similarities between the Northern Hares and hares here were unmistakable.

"Ah! Finally, someone with some brains!" Colonel Hollin exclaimed with relief. Now, much to Keetch's dismay, he was the new favorite. "So, I suppose you've heard of the Long Patrol then, eh?" The general stood in a "noble" pose as he looked at Keetch expectantly.

"Um... yes," Keetch lied through his teeth, "You um... you..."

"Spit it out, lad!" the colonel exclaimed with impatience. Obviously, the rest of the hares were becoming impatient as they removed their hoods, lowered their weapons, and gave loud "ahems" as they watched the so-called interrogation.

"Um... the Long Patrol are a bunch of... famous hares who... do patrols?" Keetch finished off the sentence with hesitation and uncertainty. Of course he'd never heard of anything called The Long Patrol. He just wanted to keep on the hares' good side.

"And...?" the hare said, expecting a more praising description this time. Luckily, it seemed as though one of the younger hares had finally run out of patience.

"Wot d'ye think we should do with the prisoner, sah?" he interrupted.

"Heh?"

"We should very well kill the vermin on the spot. We've seen 'im assaulting this here goodbeast, afterall," the younger hare continued as he pointed at Brink. Keetch gulped, beginning to sweat despite the cold temperature.

"Permission to speak, sah," another young hare gave a smart salute.

"Permission granted."

"Beggin' your pardon, sah," she began, "but isn't it Salamandastron Law that vermin are to be given a fair trial by Lord Rathor himself?"

"Missy," Champlain argued, "You know that Lord Rathor has never let any vermin go."

"The law's the law!" she retorted curtly.

"Mind how you speak to your higher-ups!" he answered with a frown. _Honestly, what was the point of being Lieutenant if you weren't even given any respect_?

"You were just appointed the position!"

"You're just jealous that I got it and not you!"

"Enough you two! You aren't young leverets anymore! You're members of the Long Patrol, so start acting like it!" Colonel Hollin scolded sternly. The two hares nodded solemnly and finished off with a respective salute.

"That's more like it," Colonel Hollin gave them a short nod of approval. Then he turned his attention to his captives, who were beginning to take the hares less seriously by the minute.

"Now, as for you two, I'm going to have to agree with Private Missy, here," the general said as-a-matter-of-factly, "It is, after all, Salamandastron Law that every rat, ferret, weasel, stoat, fox, etc. who ventures near Salamandastron must stand trial for their offensive actions. Though why he bothers, I'll never know!" Nobody missed the scorching glare Champlain aimed towards Missy or the way Missy gave him a snide, gloating glance.

"So until then," the general continued, "You are our prisoner, fox." In a blink of an eye, Keetch was bound and gagged.

"Urmph!" he gave a muffled shout as he struggled against his bonds.

"Right. Now that that's taken care of, let's head back to Salamandastron," the colonel commanded as he turned around.

"Wait a second!" Brink shouted, "I think there's been some sorta misunderstandin' here!"

"Never mind about misunderstandings!" Colonel Hollin said over his shoulder, "We'll get them straightened out at the trial."

"But- but you don't-" Brink tried to explain before he was cut off.

"Save that story for Lord Rathor. Not to worry, the problem will be over in a tick!"

"No, you have to listen! This is-"

"Listen, _boy,_" the colonel replied, his patience wearing paper-thin, "I would listen to my betters and obey orders if I were you. Say another word, and you will recieve the same punishment!" He nodded his head in Keetch's direction.

"But this is impor-"

"Not another word!" the colonel interrupted sharply.

"Your large ears were meant for listening, you know- Ouch!" his remark was met by a sound _whack_ from the colonel's pace stick.

"You forget who's in charge here, otter! One more word, _one more word_, and I will make sure that your march to Salamandastron is unpleasant, is that clear?" Brink didn't reply, he just gave the hare a withering glare. Satisfied, the colonel spun around and proceeded to lead the small band.

"It's not so bad," another hare gave him a small pat on the shoulder, "He seems rough, but he's so used to orders and the good ol' military obedience, wot!" Irritated, Brink shrugged off the comforting paw has he trudged forward.

"You know," the hare whispered to him as she leaned closer, "I don't think he likes us young'uns! He thinks we're out of control!" Brink gave no indication of having heard the hare and continued marching forward. However, much to his dismay, this didn't discourage the talkative hare. The otter groaned inwardly as she continued talking, not minding the fact that he hadn't yet said a word to her.

* * *

Inside the grand halls of Salamandastron, the badgerlord sighed as he sunk lower in his chair. Although calm on the exterior, he was feeling restless once more. He hadn't left Salamandastron in several seasons. The season for sea storms was ending and all was faring well in the region. Perhaps this was the opportune time to leave and do battles against pirates once more.

The gigantic badger took a long sip of strawberry cordial, reminscing. Most badgers weren't all too fond of the sea life, but Rathor loved the thrill of the adventure it brought every day. He used to wake up every morning to the sound of waves, feel the sea spray and wind in his face, brave the thundrous sea storms, face off against the worst of villains and emerge as the victor and hero- he missed it. He heaved a sigh as he swirled his glass, wondering how he was going to explain this to the colonel.

His peaceful thoughts were interrupted when the large, wooden double doors of the hall were shoved open to reveal not only the scouting party, but an otter and a fox! The badgerlord heaved another sigh. _Really, what was the point with all these old Salamandastron Laws? Why keep these pointless laws out of the sake of tradition?! These trials were on the verge of ridiculousness! Honestly, was every badgerlord here so soft? Nevermind then, he might as well get it over with quickly._

"M'lord," Colonel Hollin saluted, "We were patroling just North of here when we spotted these two. They were in quite a skirmish and fortunately, we intervened before anybeast was harmed or killed."

"Oh," Rathor got up to his feet and stretched nonchalantly. The first thing he noticed was the filthy conditions the two of them were in. They were almost completely covered in mud and they had probably crossed the swamp. _How lucky for them that they escaped that fat toad!_

Then he studied the faces of his "guests". The fox was trembling and seemed to be scared half to death in his presence, as he should be. However, the otter didn't seem to have a very grateful expression on his face. Furthermore, they were chained together, which was puzzling since he didn't recall the Long Patrol using shackles and chains before.

"Well, welcome to Salamandastron," the badgerlord said courteously to the defiant-looking otter, "You may stay as long as you like... but in the meantime," he cleared his throat, "We have to begin the trial."

* * *

Brink was fuming! There was no way he was going to be a prisoner of these ridiculous hares! They acted so high and mighty, talking all fancy in their ridiculous way, giving their salutes, and being so _bossy_! If there was anything Brink hated, it was when other beasts assumed that he knew nothing!

_I'd like to see who this "Lord Rathor" is! Once I see this ridiculous leader of theirs, I'm going to give them all something to think about!_ He clenched his fists in frustration. However, when he saw the massive bulk of fur and muscle that was their leader, he felt his courage quail at the sight.

This was only for a moment though, for he recovered from the shock and kept his defiant front just in time. Although he seemed brave and frustrated on the exterior, a large part of him wanted to hide or run away from whatever that creature was. Whatever it was, Brink knew that it definately wasn't a hare.

"M'lord," that stupid hare gave another one of those stupid salutes, "We were patrolling just North of here when we spotted these two. They were in quite a skirmish and fortunately, we intervened before anybeast was harmed or killed." Brink almost snorted at this. _Whether they were there or not, I had everything under control!_

Then, to his astonishment, he saw the gigantic creature stand up to his full height. He was even bigger than that king toad and if there was a fight between the two, he would bet all his food on Lord Rathor. He was the biggest creature he had ever seen in his life!

Then the creature looked at them and Brink could almost swear he grew bigger- either that or Brink shrunk under his gaze. He knew Keetch was thinking the same thing, for he was shaking so hard, his chains and shackles were rattling. There was a heavy silence while the badger looked them over. Then he spoke and it was the kind of voice that thunder would have. Though, it wasn't harsh or extremely powerful, it was more like a rich, gentle bass tone.

"Well, welcome to Salamandastron. You may stay as long as you like... but in the meantime," Lord Rathor cleared his throat, we have to begin the trial."

* * *

Word in Salamandastron spreads fast- especially when vermin or food are involved- especially food. A score or two of hares showed up in the hall in less than a minute, waiting to hear their lord's decree. There was a moment's silence and it wasn't until the badgerlord cleared his throat that the otter had realized that he was supposed to speak.

He seemed scared- maybe stunned at first, but he found strength in his voice in less than a second. To the badgerlord's mild surprise, it wasn't a statement, accusation, introduction, or thanks that the otter gave, but a question- a rather simple one at that.

"Um... pardon my asking, but... what kind of creature are you? I know you're not a hare... r-right?" He heard Naplin stifling her laughter at the absurd question but several of the other veteran hares present in the room seemed offended and gaped in bewilderment. Colonel Hollin kept a passive expression on his face, but he couldn't hide the fact that his ears were burning red from anger.

"...No, I'm a badger," Rathor answered slowly, cursing himself for his forgetfulness. _How could I forget to introduce myself?!_ "I'm Lord Rathor, Lord of Salamandastron." Instantly, the otter's eyes lit up.

"Wait a minute! Lord Rathor?! _The_ Lord Rathor? Lord Rathor the Tempest?!" Now he seemed more like a young otter cub eager for a bedtime story or possibly some tasty desert.

"I've heard the sailors talk about you! They say you wiped out scores of vermin single-pawed and sent their ships crashing into the rocky shores- either that, or you sent them to the dark abyss of the ocean!" The badgerlord couldn't help but chuckle at his enthusiasm. Who would've known he had become so famous? Anybeast who didn't know what a badger was couldn't possibly have come from Mossflower.

"Well, that was seasons ago and it was not single-pawed. In fact, a lot of hares and several sea otters were there on my ship when we were out on the ocean," he explained, giving some credit to the deserving hares.

"Well I never heard of 'em," Brink blurted out. He instantly covered his mouth when he realized how his words were an insult to the somewhat egotistical hares. At that moment, Brink was thankful that Keetch was bound because if he wasn't, he would surely kick him.

"I mean-er... I'm sure the sailors at the docks just didn't notice them... I mean... er..." ultimately, Brink's attempt to recover himself had failed miserably. He chanced a glance at the crowd only to notice the many disgruntled looks thrown his way. Then he looked at Keetch, who gave him a look that was twice as angry.

"Erm... permission to untie him?" Brink asked awkwardly. The badgerlord just simply nodded, probably astounded by Brink's stupidity. Never in his life, did Brink feel so embarraced. Keeping his gaze to the floor, he undid Keetch's gag and hoped the fox's quick thinking would smooth things over. After licking his dry lips and clearing his throat, the fox began to speak.

"Your honor," he addressed Lord Rathor shakily, "I think what Brink is trying to say is that he didn't hear the entire story. I'm sure that it must've been a long time ago and he doesn't remember all the multiple rumors all-too correctly."

"Aha..." Rathor glanced at the hares who didn't seem quite convinced. He quickly changed the topic and got straight to the point, "Anyway, what I want to know now is what happened in Salamandastron territory. Let's get this trial started. Otter, you begin your side of the story."

"Erm... my name's Brink, Lord Rathor. See, we were on a hill and I was cold. I wanted his jacket so we got into an argument over it and eventually it became a fight," he said simply.

The badger was shocked it the simplicity of it all. _Not much of any injury to any of them! There was no robbery, no murdering, nothing serious! Most of these kinds of trials are always about groups of vermin, but this is entirely different! It can't be that simple! _Another beast then spoke up. It was young Lieutenant Champlain again, always on the offensive.

"You don't have to cover for him!" he said boldly, "If you're his prisoner and he's holding your family or friends hostage, you needn't worry. Just tell us where, and we'll save them!"

"What?" Brink and Keetch said in unison.

"It's obvious that you're hiding the fox's true crimes! Why else would you be chained to him unless you were his prisoner? Why else would you not tell us of his _real_ crimes? It's because he and another group of vermin are holding other poor beasts as captives and hostages! Don't worry," then he changed his tone to be more gentle and reassuring, "The Long Patrol has dealt with problems like these before, you can tell us what the trouble is and we'll deal with those blighters!"

"That's not what happened!" Brink insisted, "I wasn't captured by him. We were slaves on a slaveship, that's why we have this!" He held up a paw, jangling the chains loudly. Instantly, the hall was filled with excited murmers and whispers among the hares.

"Slaveship?" the badgerlord echoed, leaning forward in his chair. At the very mention of the word "slaveship", he was fully interested. It had been seasons since he'd battled the likes of those. Of all things, slaveships were what he hated most. He hated them just as much as he loved to see the joy in slaves' eyes when they recieve their long-delayed freedom.

"Yes, slaveship," Keetch repeated with a nod, "Brink and I were taken aboard as captives on _The Pillager_ to serve Captain Skeel and his crew."

"We escaped though," Brink finished, "But we were still chained together." The volume of the hares' voices escalated at this point and were near deafening.

"I think I'd like to hear a full retelling of your ordeal," Lord Rathor said, completely engrossed in the excited atmosphere.

Brink and Keetch nodded, obliged to tell their tale.

* * *

_An Excerpt from Redwall Abbey's Records:_

_"A great sadness befalls Redwall today. Due to this confounded illness, Redwall has lost both its abbess and its healer. Everyone in the abbey is mourning their deaths and even the sky is crying for them now. But we cannot stay in such depressing and hopeless spirits. Although Abbess Cadencia and Sister Rina have already left for the Dark Forest, they'll forever be a part of our hearts. I still have them in my memory. I remember when Abbess Cadencia and Sister Rina were only small mousemaids playing together by the abbey pond and sneaking pies out of the kitchens! I also remember their faces when they were caught as well... Hm... I also remember when Cadencia was appointed Abbess of Redwall and Rina became the official healer! Oh those wonderful times! _

_I worry for little Mirril though. Although her mother has succumbed to the illness, she still seems to be healthy. She's the only one fit for the position as Redwall Abbey's Healer at the moment and I hope that her mother has taught her enough about medicines. Though, Mirril is only a child, several seasons out of dibbunhood! The pressure of holding such responsibilities are enormous for one so young! Not only that, be she's now an orphan and she will probably be mourning the loss of her mother- her best friend- for many days. I pray that she stays strong._

_It has been only a few days since Brother Bartholomew has left Redwall in search for a cure. All our hearts go out to him. Unfortunately, just yesterday, his dibbun son has fallen ill as well. I can't imagine the pain and sorrow he would face if he comes back with a cure, only to find out that it's too late for young Bartholomelo. I must push such thoughts out of my mind now. As Abbess Cadencia has said to us in her parting words... or phrases (she was always one for wise sayings):_

_"The Candle Always Burns Brightest In The Darkest Of Places."_

_"The Sky Is Always Clearest The Day After A Storm."_

_Quimby  
Recorder of Redwall Abbey_

A/N (This is not a part of the fic, I just want to tell you to scroll down and read the asterik part in bold. For those of you confused, this will clear things up. Thank you)

* * *

**So what'd you think? It was much longer than I intended it to be, partly because it'll most likely be my last chapter for a while. Remember:**

**_I'M LEAVING FOR UP TO 6 WEEKS_!!**

**Yeah, I'm leaving on Wednesday, so after that, don't expect much of anything. I'll have plenty of time to come up with different ideas for the story though. So thank you all who've read this far, I really appreciate it.**

**_NOTE: THESE RECORDS FROM REDWALL ABBEY WERE FROM MORE THAN 10 SEASONS BACK, BACK WHEN MELO WAS LIKE, 3. SO THESE ARE BASICALLY BACKGROUND INFO ON THE CHARACTERS OF REDWALL!!_**

**Also, on a side note: a pace stick is one of those sticks they use in the military (they have a little piece of leather at the end I believe?). And Rathor the Tempest is my own character and I'm quite proud of him. A "tempest" is a violent windstorm. **

**Also, a lot of you might have noticed some major character changes in Brink. Well, this is the way it goes: Brink was set on edge because of him being a slave and all, I mean, imaging how it would change anybody's personality. Now he's reverting back to his old self- the Brink that was naive and playful before he was captured. **

**Yes, and I realize that most of the hares are egotistical jerks- for now. A lot of it is in Brink's POV and he thinks a lot of people are jerks. :P Colonel Hollin did seem really stuck-up, bossy, and by the rules though. More in-depth about them later. I did have a little trouble coming up with good names for them, so if anyone knows any good names for the hares, just tell me.**

**So how'd you like that bit of a twist in background information at the end? Did you see it coming? I'm trying not to be predictable here! Parts of the trial were supposed to be funny, just to tell you.**

**Also, I couldn't decide on which "wise saying" I should use at the end so I used both. I couldn't decide on the Chapter title either. I was deciding on "Above the Law" or "Ignorance Isn't Bliss". :P**

**So, I've also made them in different POVs and tell me how you like the change. I noticed that we didn't get much of Keetch's POV because most of the time he didn't really say anything so there was no point.**

**Oh yes, and relative ages: Champlain- 24 or 25; Missy- 19 or 20; Naplin- 17 or 18; Colonel Hollin- late 40's early 50's; Rathor- mid-30's. At the time of the excerpt: Cadencia and Rina- mid- 40's; Mirril- 12; Melo- 3ish**

**You know the Drill: _Review!!_**


	13. Plight

**OK, I'm back, for now at least. There can't really be any promises for future chapters so keep your fingers crossed! I'm so sorry I haven't updated until now. As I said before, computer access is kinda limited here since the area of Malaysia I'm at is kinda rural. Anyway, at the place I'm at, we have a computer but it was a mess of wires and sockets and I didn't bother working on it until 5 days ago so sorry, I'm just that lazy.**

**Anyway, special thanks to MangaHottie740, Foxstar24, Dpbclover, Jarrtail, and Awsomewriter123 for their shining reviews! I couldn't have gone very far without any support, so thank you! :D**

* * *

**Plight**

* * *

The Dining Hall of Salamandastron had a high ceiling and was enormous, somehow able to fit almost all the hares in the vast mountain. The hall was abuzz with talking, laughter, and of course the clanking of forks and spoons against plates. Hares sat in large groups on the benches, somehow able to fit all the food on the overloaded tables, and they all seemed to sit in groups determined by age.

The older hares seemed more reserved and had a more proud air about them, as they also had uniforms lavishly decorated with multiple medals and ribbons. They sat separated from the youngsters, who were by far, more raucous. Then, on the farthest table, somehow hidden away and barely noticeable was a bench that had only two isolated inhabitants.

Keetch sighed with frustration as he took a bite of plum pudding. It had been two days since they'd arrived, and while the goodbeasts of Salamandastron had accepted their story with awe, there was still no doubt that a majority of them still distrusted him- with good reason, of course.

Although being guests in the large mountain, the fox couldn't shake the feeling that he was rather more of a prisoner. He was constantly under watch, received almost no privacy, and was occasionally the recipient of cold glances and bitter remarks.

Looking up from his pudding, he noticed his otter friend munching down on a slice of carrot cake with gusto. Losing his appetite from the sight, Keetch resorted to idly toying with the gelatinous mass in his bowl.

"Mmph!" Brink exclaimed with his mouth full, "The food here ish the besht! It's no wonder Ma Krammel told ush to come here!"

_Clank!_ A heavy, metal tray carrying an array of food and eating utensils was slammed onto the bench. They looked up to see none other than Naplin, who was panting from the exertion from her long journey from the kitchens to the table.

"Don't mind if I sit here?" she asked as she assumed her position at the bench, "Honestly! Those hares over there eat far too much! I can barely get any room for my tray on any of those tables! It's a tad bit different over here though, you two are sitting here all by yourselves! Obviously you need some company!"

"Actually, we like being alone," Brink explained, his whiskers twitching in annoyance, "I could actually hear myself think."

"I know! They're so loud! Hahahahahaha!"

Brink rolled his eyes at her obliviousness. Although Naplin was clearly more friendly towards them, he found her more of an annoyance than a friend. Most of the other hares seemed to avoid them for some reason and the ones that actually did approach them were simply curious and nothing more. As if reading his thoughts, Naplin looked up from her food and cleared her throat.

"Hey," she said cheerfully, "I know that you aren't getting the proper Salamandastron hospitality here! Even I can see that! Just hang in there, wot!"

"I don't see why I'm being ignored here," Brink replied, obviously not convinced, "I understand if they want to shun Keetch here, but why me?"

"Because you were rude and stupid enough to insult them in the first place," Keetch answered him bitterly.

"I wasn't asking you, fox!"

"Well somebeast had to answer your stupid questions, otherwise you wouldn't shut your snout!"

"You've got some nerve!" Brink raised his voice.

"Stop it!" Their argument was silenced by Naplin, who for once was being serious, "Fighting has been forbidden within Salamandastron- especially during supper!" At that, she stuffed some walnut pasty into her mouth.

After some moments of awkward silence, Brink decided to venture further into the topic that was lightly discussed.

"So... what's with the cold treatment?" he began, "Am I not a goodbeast? I'm an otter, not a vermin. Aren't I to be trusted?" He waited several more moments for a reply, as Naplin refused to talk as long as her mouth was full.

"Excellent tuck, eh wot? Oh yes," she cleared her throat as if whatever she was going to say next was something of great importance, "Lord Rathor has decided that he should leave for the sea once more to vanquish those blasted pirates."

She then shoveled a pawful of candied hazelnuts into her mouth and chewed slowly, savoring the crunchy, rich taste.

"Can't you go for 5 minutes without food stuffed in your gut?" he asked rudely with annoyance. Naplin raised a finger and shook it as if he were a naughty little ottercub.

"Never deny a hare's right to her food," she grinned jokingly. Brink however, was far from amused.

"Anyway," she continued, "A lot of the higher-ups like Colonel Hollin, for instance, are against it since it's quite unsual for a badgerlord to leave Mossflower. If something were to happen in his absence, all of Mossflower could be in jeopardy. _That's _how important Salamandastron's strength is to this country." She took a bite of some honeyed scone at the end of that remark.

"But what does that have to do with us?" Keetch asked, his curiosity piqued.

"Because your arrival has concerned Lord Rathor and has made him aware that those bally slavers are at it again. That has made everybeast in Salamandastron uneasy, as we're quite unsure of what to do next. And secondly- you haven't touched that yet. Are you going to drink it? No? Well nevermind, I suppose I'll have the liberty of finishing that for you," she swiped Keetch's mug of strawberry ale with glee, "Cheers, wot?" She quickly gulped down the drink with astonishing speed.

"Can't thank ya enough there," she gave a satisfied sigh, "I was parched! Now where was I...?"

"Get on with it!" Brink ordered sharply, his voice barely considered a speaking voice.

"Ah yes," she said calmly as if she hadn't heard the otter at all, "Well, now they're even more wary of vermin out there and being that you two aren't at each other's throats, they consider you a traitor, Brink."

"Me? A traitor?" Brink asked with astonishment, "But- but it's not like I saw him harm anybeast! If I saw or helped him harm a goodbeast, that would make me a traitor but none of that had ever happened!"

"Well that's what I heard around here," Naplin replied as she ran her paw over the slightly ruffled, hazel-brown fur on her head, "Besides, we hares naturally have a very strong hatred for rats, ferrets, weasels, foxes, stoats, and the like. It's in our warrior blood and fighting spirit. Not only that, but a lot of us hares have lost friends and family to them and we tend to hold grudges."

"Just because Keetch is a fox doesn't mean he's like them," Brink insisted, "I know. If he was another mindless murderer I would've stabbed him by now. Honest!"

"That's not exactly comforting or convincing, Brink," Keetch said under his breath, nervousness pricking his voice. He wasn't quite sure if the last statement was supposed to praise and support him or threaten his life. Once again, Brink was saying things without thinking through.

"So why aren't you ignoring us like the rest of them?" Brink questioned, giving no signs of having heard Keetch. He was probably oblivious to what he had just said a moment ago.

"I'm curious of course!" Naplin replied with a shrug, "And I'm also sorry for the way my father treated you that first time we met. I know he can be an old stick-in-the-mud but he does things right, orderly, and proper 'round here."

"Wait a moment! So that stuffy, old windbag with monocles is your father?!" Brink exclaimed with shock, "But you don't act like him! You don't even _look_ like him!"

"Hahaha," she giggled, "Yes that 'stuffy, old windbag' is my father, _Colonel Hollin_. I was lucky enough to take on my the looks of my mother. Anyway, I think you'd be better off if you'd address him and other hares with their correct names and titles."

"But this whole time I thought Champlain was related to him... or maybe Missy?" Keetch inquired. He too, was a bit surprised by the information.

"Champlain and Missy? They're cousins and they're aren't related to the Colonel in the least bit, though they're probably likely to end up high-ranking themselves someday. They're definately competitive and hotheaded enough. In fact, Brink, if you were a hare, I think you'd fit in just fine here."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Brink asked, irked by that last statement.

"You don't see them now because they've left for a little while," Naplin quickly changed the subject, "They've headed to Ma Krammel's grave, ya know."

"Ma Krammel...?" Keetch repeated to himself.

"When they were little, those two were once lost in the woods because they'd wandered too far from the squad. They ended up in Ma Krammel's home and stayed there until Sage found them. From then on, it wasn't uncommon for them to head there for some food."

"Sage?" Brink asked, "I don't think I've met him before."

"Sagewood Thatcher," she explained, "Is always busy and on the run. He's our fastest sprinter and messenger and also quite a skilled tracker. He went along with Missy and Champlain since they're still too young to travel by themselves. He's the grandnephew of the Abbess of Redwall, don'cha know."

"Red...wall...?" Brink asked. For some reason, that name seemed to ring with a certain importance.

"Ahem!"

They all turned around to be greeted by a tall, lanky hare who seemed of pretty high stature.

"Lord Rathor requests the both of you in the Armory," he indicated at Brink and Keetch.

* * *

"I tell you, Lord Rathor," Colonel Hollin stressed, "If you were to leave, who knows what could happen to Salamandastron and all of Mossflower! You mustn't leave this place!"

"We have the remaining hares, Redwall, the Guosim, and the otters to handle any problems while I'm gone," the badgerlord replied as he heaved an armfull of maps and scrolls onto the table.

"And what if these forces aren't enough? Mossflower needs leaders, Lord Rathor!"

"Please understand," Rathor said gently, "I understand your reasonings and that you have good intentions but I have my own reasons too. I can't sit by and wait for danger and evil to appear in this peaceful country- not when there's pain and suffering out there. To sit here and think to myself, 'These incidents aren't happening anywhere near me' would be shirking my duty as Lord of Salamandastron. You see? I simply cannot do that. I'm sorry."

"Now see here," Hollin protested, "I also understand what you're talking about. It's just simply that your wild excursions always leaves Mossflower at a disadvantage for long periods of time. You're gone for at least 2 seasons every time you leave, Lord Rathor. Remember that one time you left Mossflower and Redwall was in complete chaos in your absence!"

"Of course I know how long I'm at sea! But I can't just leave knowing that another pirate ship or slavehold is just over the horizon. I just can't. Every time I vanquish an enemy, I recieve news of other slaves that need liberating or vermin that must be stopped. I can't leave the job half-done."

"But M'lord-"

"My decision is final, Colonel," Rathor replied calmly as he foraged through the numerous dusty scrolls, "You're dismissed."

"... Well I don't see I keep trying. These days reason seems to fall upon deaf ears," the colonel muttered to himself as he simply tromped out of the room. Despite the fact that such disrespectful behavior was certainly not acceptable in Salamandastron, Rathor pretended he hadn't noticed. Instead, he had just unraveled scroll after scroll, placing and arranging them carefully on the large table. Just then, three other beasts entered the room.

"Brink and Keetch as you requested, sah," the messanger hare saluted.

"Ah, thank you," the badgerlord looked up from his work, "Exellent timing as usual, Quinton." The hare saluted and departed, leaving the badger, otter, and fox alone in the room.

"Well Brink," the badgerlord rummaged through the scrolls, "You mentioned that you were from Seafoam Island, am I correct?"

"Yessir," Brink answered, his mouth dry. Although he had gotten to know the badgerlord a little bit more, he still didn't feel comfortable around him. To him, was still a giant, powerful creature that kills as easily as it breathes.

"Since I'm going back to the sea, I think we can escort you home," he offered generously.

"Home?" the word almost sounded unfamiliar to Brink.

"Of course, home," the badger replied as he studied a map, "Don't you want to go back?" At this, he looked up, a puzzled look on his face.

"Erm... uh... of course," Brink replied hurriedly, "But I uh... see... I can't go- at least not yet." There was a moment of awkward silence in the room before Rathor decided to speak.

"Your family must be worried about you."

"I know that," Brink explained, "But I left for adventure. I still haven't seen anything worth telling yet. This could be the only chance I ever get in my whole entire lifetime. There's still more I have to see!"

"Nothing worth telling?" the badger echoed in a hushed tone, "Nothing worth telling?" Brink and Keetch took a step backward. By the way the badgerlord was talking, they couldn't distinguish his emotions. For all they knew, he could be furious and lash out at them at any moment. To their surprise, he began chuckling softly to himself. It sounded low and powerful- like a soft, distant, rumbling peal of thunder except that it had some joy or amusement to it.

"So you think that being a slave at the oar, teaming up with an unlikely ally, escaping a slaveship, fighting and killing a captain and getting revenge, and meeting a few allies along the way aren't events worth telling? Then tell me, what_ is_ a story worth telling?" he inquired.

"I- I don't know," the otter stuttered, not sure how to answer the question himself.

"Well if you feel so strongly against it, I won't force you," the badgerlord said, "But if you're not going to head home, then where are you going to go?"

"I'm not quite sure how to answer that, sir. I think I would travel to other places- find more adventure."

"Hmm..." the badger said thoughtfully, "Well if that's the case, you may, but you'll have to consider your friend's opinion as well." He pointed at Keetch in indication.

"What?" they said in unison. For the whole discussion up until now, Keetch had been completely ignored.

"Well? What do you say about this matter, Keetch?" the badger asked.

"It... I... I don't think I have any say in the matter, Lord Rathor," Keetch replied rather dejectedly.

"Nonsense! Through teamwork you two have made it through every ordeal you've faced up 'til now. Therefore, you too have a say in what happens. You're his ally and here, you'll be treated as such. You're no prisoner here, Keetch. Go ahead and say what you need to say," he replied quite warmly. Keetch hesitated a moment and finally gave in to the generous words.

"I... don't really have anywhere to go from here, sir," he began, "So I'm fine with anything that Brink wants to do."

"Is that so? Well it so happens that I can break the chain that holds you two together," Rathor replied.

"Really?" Brink gasped with excitement.

"Of course. Just look around you," he spread his arms wide to indicate the wide selection in weapons, "This is the Armory. There has to be a weapon in here that's strong enough to break it." Sure enough, it was an impressive sight to behold. Rows upon rows of weapons- swords, axes, spears, maces, bows & arrows- lined the walls. And in the farther side of the room was a large, black anvil- worn and scarred in some areas, proving its age and usefulness. In their nervousness had they really overlooked these fascinating objects?

"These," the badgerlord said in an impressive, proud voice, "Are the weapons of the Lords and Ladies of Salamandastron before me. These are pieces of the ageless history of Salamandastron."

"Which one of these is yours?" Brink asked in wonderment. Wordlessly, Rathor separated himself from his work and walked to the other end of the room. There, he picked up a large, double-sided axe with a large, jagged spearhead on the tip. Connected on the other end was a chain which was connected to a slightly smaller- but certainly heavy- hammer.

"This is my weapon," he explained with pride, "I made it myself you know." He held the axe in his right paw while he expertly twirled the hammer by the chain in the other.

"That's incredible!" Brink exclaimed with awe.

"Yes," Rathor accepted the compliment whole-heartedly before getting back to the point, "Now if you wish to be free from these chains, please stand on opposite sides of that anvil over there." He nodded towards the heavy metal object on the other side of the room. The both of them, not even hesitating or discussing the matter, did as they were told.

"Now," the badgerlord instructed, "Lay the chain tight and flat over the anvil and hold it there." In order to make the chain as taut as possible, they had to sit down and pull at the chain, making sure that there was no slack on it.

"Now no matter what happens, hold it steady and don't move." At that moment, the massive badger raised the axe over his head with one paw and held the hammer still in the other. Carefully positioning himself and making careful observations, he charged at them with a mighty roar. To Brink and Keetch, it was the scariest thing they had ever experienced in their lives. They were cornered and defenseless while the hulking beast was charging at them at full speed, his weapon raised over his head and seemingly aimed to kill. They shut their eyes a second before he was upon them and then-

_**CLANK!!**_

* * *

_Records of Redwall Abbey from 12 seasons ago..._

_One more has died of this mysterious disease and Brother Bartholomew was expected to come back 11 days ago and there's still no sign of him returning. Even I feel a bit unwell myself. However, there is some good news! Although Sister Mirril hasn't been able to bring anybeast back to health up 'til now, Bartholomelo has been making a speedy recovery from the brink of death! This is indeed bringing hope back to the abbey once again! This has also lifted Sister Mirril's spirits since 14 Redwallers have died under her care. The fact that one small dibbun can live through an illness that has killed so many is a miracle and I hope that this is a sign that the illness is subsiding. _

_Oh, and I forgot! There's been even more good news! There's been a delivery of herbs, food, and supplies from Salamandastron. Obviously, the hares have heard of our plight and have come to the rescue, as they usually do! I'm only sorry that we're unable to hold a grand feast in their honor, as they have delivered the supplies personally. According to them, the sickness hasn't reached any area far from Redwall so I'm relieved. Today is hopefully a turning point in these dark times and I eagerly await the day that Redwall will be able to stand strong, hold grand feasts, and aid those in need as it usually does._

_Recorder of Redwall Abbey,_

_Quimby_

* * *

**Well there you have it. I'm so sorry for not updating sooner and it took me several days to type up this chapter. The going's slower than usual because without cable TV, my brother and sister are bored and also want to use the computer. Oh well. Besides the fact that I'm being eaten alive by mosquitos, I'm OK here. So please, Review and post any ideas, recommendations of fanfics, suggestions, corrections, comments, constructive criticism, etc. That would really encourage me to keep writing. **

**Oh yeah, an for those of you who actually care, Naplin was supposed to be a minor character at first, but I also wanted to shed the hares on a more positive light (since Basil Stag Hare was one of my fave characters) so she was invented. I hope you like her and don't find her as annoying as Brink and Keetch did. As for Colonel Hollin, if any of you have ever watched Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends, imagine Mr. Harriman's voice talking and you've got the right voice. I think Hollin was based off of Harriman. He's one of my favorites! :)**

**Hmm... Oh yeah, I'm still doing character bios for anyone who's interested. So, thank you all so much for reading. Even if you haven't ever reviewed, at least you've read it and it makes me happy to see the number of views for this fic go up exponentionally. I know this chapter may be a little rushed or disappointing but either way, be honest and tell me what you think and how I can improve future chapters. I'm getting less and less creative with Chapter Names... anyway...**

**Thank you all so much! I hope you wait around for the next chapter!**


	14. A Glimpse of Things to Come

**Hey everyone! I'm so glad that you guys liked my last chapter. Special thanks to MangaHottie740, DPBClover, Awsomewriter123, FoxStar24, CinnamonPool, JarrTail, Zinachu, SilverZeo, and JyrFalcon345 for reviewing. I've made a new record of 6 reviews in 24 hours and right now I have a total of 9 reviews for chapter 13. Altogether, a breakthrough and a new record! OK, now that I'm alone with the computer more often, I'll be able to concentrate and write more often. Yay! :)**

**Also, I have to say that I've sorta hit a writer's block in between Chapters 13 and 14 and I had to go to Thailand for a while. So sorry for the long delay. Also, I guess that all of you guys were aware of the flamer that has been posting "stories" (if that's what you could call them) all over the Redwall section of Fanfic. All his postings have been deleted and so has his profile so I hope that his account has been suspended.**

* * *

**A Glimpse of Things to Come**

* * *

There was a bit of a peaceful aura outside Mount Salamandastron while the hares gathered around and whispered among each other. It had been about four days since they had accepted the unexpected guests into their home and it was now their time to depart. Set apart from the massive group stood two lone figures. One of these figures was recounting the provisions in his pack and double-checking the traveling route on his map. The other, though, seemed less prepared and much less focused.

Brink once more carefully inspected his left wrist. Sadly, the manacle was still attatched to him but that didn't matter. What _did_ matter was that the chain was no longer in existence. Despite Lord Rathor's sharp precision, he was still unable to risk going further by breaking the shackle completely. He could do that, of course, but there was also that guarantee that their wrists would break as well.

_"Never mind. This will just stay as a mark of my slavery and suffering so I'll never forget,"_ he thought to himself.

Then his thoughts were interrupted by Lord Rathor's low, baritone voice.

"Are you both sure you want to leave?" he asked, not for the first time that day.

"Yessir, I'm sure," Brink smiled as he shouldered his pack.

"And thank you for your hospitality," Keetch finished with a polite bow of his head. Brink heard several of the hares snort in contempt at this statement. Of course, Lord Rathor must have heard it too, for he sent a frosty glance at several hares.

"Do you two think you have enough food?" the badgerlord asked.

"Thanks," Brink answered, "But I think I have enough." Keetch, in response, simply nodded his head, eager to be going.

"Just a moment," the badgerlord's voice boomed, "I have a little something for the both of you." Eager to see what gift was to be bestowed upon him, Brink rushed to the badger while Keetch approached gingerly.

"As you both know by now," Lord Rathor began, "Mount Salamandastron prides itself on not only the security it brings to all of Mossflower, but the hospitality it shares with fellow goodbeasts. We all wish the two of you safety on your journeys so that's why I'm giving you these." He gave a motion with his right paw, signalling a hare forward. It was none other than Quinton, though intead of a message, he now carried with him two short swords.

"These," Lord Rathor said as he took them from the hare, "are swords made by me just last night. I apologize for the simple designs on the hilt and scabbard. Had I known you were leaving sooner, I would have put a bit more time and work on these." Ignoring the fact that he was recieving a high honor, Brink enthusiastically grabbed the sword right out of Rathor's paws. Nobeast could overlook his gleeful face as he unseathed the weapon and looked it over.

It was indeed a well-made weapon. Although simple, it was sharp, beautiful, and the sheen told of the excellent quality and care put into it.

"Thank you so much, sir!" Brink exclaimed, not bothering to hide his grin, keep the excitement from his voice, or even keep any form of composure at all. Most of the hares cheered, grinned, or chuckled at the sight of the spirited young otter. His displays of excitement only reminded them of themselves when they were younger. Keetch, however, kept some reserve as he accepted the thoughtful gift with a quiet "thank you".

"Now I want the both of you to take care out there," Lord Rathor said, "And it was a pleasure having met you."

"Thank you," Brink and Keetch replied in unison. Then they looked at what they were about to leave behind- safety and allies. Although the hares weren't exactly welcoming at first, they couldn't help but feel a bit of comaraderie towards them. After all, they certainly seemed friendly at the moment as they shouted their farewells. Naturally, Naplin sent them the loudest goodbyes.

"Thank you! We'll never forget this!" Brink shouted behind him as he headed East but then he stopped abruptly.

"Keetch," he said, "I know you're heading North but are you sure you don't want to come with me? Traveling'll be harder alone, after all." He couldn't believe how awkward and desparate he sounded. Keetch stared at him with an astounded expression on his face.

"Um... no," he replied hesitantly, "I'm going back to where I came from. Goodbye Brink."

"Oh, goodbye then," Brink replied dejectedly as he turned away and headed East- alone for once.

"Maybe, someday we'll meet again under better circumstances," Keetch said with a wry smile.

"I hope so," Brink chuckled dryly, "Goodbye Keetch."

"Goodbye."

As the two of them began to shrink in the distance the hares began to retreat into the mountain to get a better view in its high windows. Although by then they were already too far to hear, Naplin didn't stop shouting her farewells.

* * *

Meanwhile, Keetch was heading North, his thoughts were troubled and confused. Times where he was unsure of his decisions were a rarity at best. He had never had any attatchments to anybeast. In the past, that was probably a good thing, since his survival banked on his decisions; it was well-known that emotions and feelings only got in the way of logical thinking.

He remembered back to those times when, giving the ideal opportunity, he would've disposed of Brink. And had the chain never existed, he would've went on his own way without any thoughts or regards to the aggressive otter. And over all the company he had shared over his life, he had never felt the same hint of loyalty or friendship towards any of them. To his surprise, he realized that at some point along his journey, he had begun to actually care for Brink.

And then there was that promise he had given to Ma Krammel. He had given her his word that they would stick with each other. Even when his promises weren't worth much, she had still trusted him_. _

_"And now it seems that Brink has come to trust me too," _he thought to himself. He sighed as he recalled the times and memories they had. He had never known that he was lonely before, he had never thought or realized it. And now, he didn't want to be alone. Ever.

"_It doesn't matter!_" he pushed the depressing thoughts out of his mind, "_Just being with him would get me in more trouble. I'd better stay alone like I've been doing for a long time... though I can't say that those were particularly happy times._"

But then when he reached a small stream, a sudden sight stopped him right at that moment.

Almost out of nowhere, a small fish flipped out of the water and onto the dry riverbank- dead. There were no other fish in the stream and where the fish had landed, it was pointing East. The sight of this gave Keetch a realization that struck him like a lightning bolt. It wasn't the sight that surprised him, but what followed afterward. It was as if a large amount of knowledge had just been crammed into his head, and it took him more than a minute to snap out of the shock and daze of the experience.

He had only once before experienced anything like this and he had always thought that it would be a "once-in-a-lifetime experience". Obviously for him, it wasn't. Amidst the swirl and confusion, he finally pieced together some information he could put into words: _Brink is heading East and should he go alone, he WILL die_.

He couldn't explain how he knew, it was as if it were something he knew all along. In fact, everything about these strange events were unexplainable to him. But that didn't matter now, what did matter was what he was going to do now. Should he continue heading North and leave the young otter to his fate or should he urge him to head another direction- South perhaps?

Taking a moment to think to himself, Keetch stood rooted to the spot, staring at the omen before him. He found himself thinking a string of thoughts, each one countering the last.

"_On one hand, it wasn't my fault that Brink is going to die. It isn't any of my business... and Brink knew that traveling had its risks, after all_," he thought to himself, "_But on the other hand, however, I did respect him and I suppose that I'm somewhat grateful for his companionship_."

Then there was a voice inside his head that said, "There's no harm in following him. You will encounter danger in any direction you turn to anyway. At least have somebeast by your side for times when you're put in a tight spot." That settled it.

Almost immediately, he turned around and dashed Southeast. He was confident in his decision now. He was not going to let Brink die. Not only had he promised Ma Krammel, but he also didn't want the blood of an ally on his hands. He didn't want to be alone anymore- even if it meant quarreling, sharing food, or any of the other inconveniences of having a partner.

"Brink! Brink wait up!" he shouted. Brink stopped and turned around, his expression changing from bewilderment, to relief, and then finally there was a grin on his face.

"Hey! I thought you were heading North!" he shouted back. Then Keetch had finally reached him, a forced smile on his face.

"Well," he panted, "I figured that by the time I reach home, it would be nothing but a desolate, icy wasteland. Why not wait around until Summer, right?"

"Glad to hear it mate," he grinned as he clapped the fox on the shoulder.

"But..." Keetch hesitated.

"But?"

"But why don't we head South?" Keetch suggested. Immediately, the otter broke into a bark of laughter.

"Ha! I finally get to correct you! If you had checked the map, you'd've seen that there's nothing South of 'ere except sand, desert, and more sand."

"But why East? Why don't we go North instead?" Keetch pleaded.

"I've told you before, it'll be freezing up there," the otter replied, uncertainty replacing the playfulness in his eyes.

"Well then," Keetch proposed, "How about you go crusading the ocean with Lord Rathor? You'd get to fight vermin, something you always like to do."

"But you get seasick," he answered, "You can't get on a ship."

"You don't have to go with me! You can just _go_!"

"But I don't want to," he replied with confusion.

"But why _East_?" Keetch persisted.

"Because," Brink was becoming impatient, "it's the heart of Mossflower! It's got lots of rivers and streams for fish and most of it is forest- and I can imagine lots of fruits from them."

"It's going to be winter anyway," the fox argued, "You can't fish in frozen water and fruits don't grow in that season!"

"Well, everywhere else is going to be bare anyway," the otter snorted.

"But East is-"

"My mind's been made up and I'm not changing it!" he replied stubbornly.

_"Never mind then! I don't care!"_ Keetch thought to himself, _"Now I can't say I didn't try!_" But he still stayed put.

"I'm going East," the otter repeated, this time more calmly, "So are you coming along or not?"

"I suppose I am," Keetch once more gave in to Brink's adamant nature, "I suppose I'm in for it."

* * *

While most of the other hares were gathered outside the mountain, there was one particular hare that avoided the crowd. Colonel Hollin stood atop Mount Salamandastron, an arrow notched on his bowstring. He watched the guests with interest as they headed off into different directions.

"I knew it," he murmered to himself, "I knew that vermin and goodbeast could never possibly get along."

"They had gotten along so far." Hollin spun around to see Lord Rathor step off the last step on the winding stairs.

"Of course," Hollin retorted, "But everybeast knows that they sense no friendship- no real loyalty whatsoever." He turned his attention back to the travelers and noticed Keetch standing stock-still in front of the stream.

"Now what are you doing now?" he muttered to himself. Then he saw the fox change course and start running to the unsuspecting otter.

"Aha! I knew he would show his true colors soon enough!" the hare pulled on the drawstring and took aim. He heard Lord Rathor's pounding footsteps approaching with a new sense of urgency.

"What is it?" he asked as calmly as he could.

"It looks like the fox thought we couldn't see him anymore," the hare explained as he adjusted his aim, "I suppose he didn't think that we could see miles around from the top of Salamandastron. But I see him... and he isn't so far away that my arrow can't reach him."

"But you don't know what his intentions are!" the badger argued.

"You and I both know that none of the vermin type have never been known to have any good in them. The only thing different about this one is that he's cunning- he knows how to wait for his victim's unawares."

"Don't shoot him!" Lord Rathor ordered.

"Since when does a badgerlord take the side of vermin?" Hollin argued.

"Since I have faith in this one!" Rathor roared. Hollin faltered for a second before he complied.

"Very well then," he said, "We'll see what happens. Though I hope you know that the otter's life is at risk." The badgerlord nodded as he leaned forward on the railing, focusing on the two creatures. Hollin was doing the same, though he was doing so with an arrow aimed for the fox.

Lord Rathor could feel his heart pulsing quicker as he saw the distance between them shortening. _Am I right? Was I right? Am I really that naive? If I'm wrong, it's on my hands... _Then he saw Brink spin around and he felt a surge of relief as he saw Brink give a hearty clap on the back.

"I don't quite understand," Hollin muttered as he lowered his weapon.

"I knew he was different!" Rathor said, his voice ringing with triumph.

"Don't you think you're celebrating too soon?" Hollin asked, "He could be waiting for the right moment. Maybe he knows we're watching."

"I doubt it," the badgerlord replied, "Why would he bother killing him? He has no reason." The hare shrugged at his response but a certain question nagged at him until he just had to ask.

"But why do you hold so much faith in this one?"

"Because I have to know if it's possible that vermin could have some good in them," the badger answered evenly.

"But you know that you have to see your enemies as nothing but heartless, soulless vermin or else their ghosts will haunt you for the rest of your life," the hare argued.

"But I have to know the truth." After a moment of consideration, the hare responded thoughtfully.

"I never knew that foolishness and wisdom could be separated in such a blurred line... And there's also a chance that you're correct about the fox." At this statement, Rathor gave a smirk.

"But there's also a chance that _I'm_ right," the hare finished, watching the triumph vanish from the badgerlord's face.

"Do you think they'll be alright?" the badgerlord asked himself, "After all, it's likely that they'll run into vermin along the way."

"There's a chance that the fox will either abandon Brink or he'll betray him," Hollin answered bluntly, catching the annoyed expression on Rathor's face before he finished his statement.

"But then again... they could give 'em the ol' blood and vinegar!"

* * *

**OK, so I'm not really sure about this chapter. At first the part about Keetch's decision seemed too corny for me. So since I was going to be gone for 5 days and the last chapter was such a success, I was really impatient to post this chapter but I'm glad I decided to wait a while to think things over. If I didn't, I wouldn't have come up with a new plot twist that I'm really proud about. **

**Also, for those of you who're confused, Keetch just recieved an omen and he could actually read them. That's right, he's a seer, though he's not yet fully aware of it. As implied in this chapter, this wasn't the first time this has happened. I'll get into more detail about the first omen later- possibly much later since the story's going to be a long one. I'm hoping that I'm keeping the characters realistic so far.**

**This is going to be difficult from here on out because I've got the beginning of the fic covered and I have an ending planned out but I'm having some trouble envisioning the middle of the plot. That's why it's really important that you guys give me some ideas or at least some encouragement by reviewing. **

**So PLEASE REVIEW!!**

**Naplin also seems to be a popular character right now so who knows, she might just be a recurring character. I guess you'll just have to keep reading to find out. Also, I'm still doing spoiler-free character bios so if any of you guys want one, PM me.**

**Also, for all you Avatar the Last Airbender fans out there, the final episode is coming soon! I'm so excited! :D (but kinda also depressed) :(**

**By the way, did you guys hear about that new Redwall book coming this September called "Doomwytes"? I'm kinda excited for it, actually.**

**Anyway, please review even if you're going to be telling me how much you've hated the chapter and NO FLAMES please. I've got nothing to say besides that right now so thank you guys so much for reading! I really appreciate it. :)**


	15. The Rebel and the Prankster

**Hey guys! Sorry for the long delay but the computer kinda had its own crash and I couldn't go on the internet for about 2 days. Then I realized that I don't have much time for my summer assignments and stuff. What was I thinking when I signed up for AP Language and Composition?! **

**No more ranting, I've got to get this chapter done fast, since my mom thinks I'm working on the assignments. **

**OK, so I'd like to thank DPBCLover, MangaHottie740, Awsomewriter123, Jarrtail, SilverZeo, Zinachu, and Foxstar24 for their encouraging reviews. That was 8 reviews so thank you guys so much. :D**

* * *

**The Rebel and the Prankster**

* * *

The night air was cold and crisp and any traveler wandering about Mossflower would think that it was a night to stay indoors by a comforting fire. But tonight was no such night, for many beasts all over Mossflower had gathered for another one of Redwall's famous feasts.

As to be expected, the enormous redstone abbey was abuzz with talking, laughing, and music as even more and more woodlanders entered through the gates, greeted and welcomed.

The abbey courtyard, once spacious and tranquil was now crowded with rows upon rows of tables which seated most of the guests. As usual, Abbess Linette was already seated and stuffiing her face at lighting speed.

"Linette," Meles scolded, "what're you doing here? You're supposed to be at the gates greeting the guests!"

"Don't worry," Linette replied with her mouth full, "Pallaprin's doin' it for me! Umph... try this. It's good!" She held up a honeyed scone to the thoroughly annoyed badger.

"I'm sorry to say I can't," she replied tersely as she left Linette to her food.

"Suit yourself!" the hare called out cheerfully as she dropped several pasties and slices of pie on her plate. Though her calm and carefree demeanor vanished when she saw a paw dart for her food.

"Owch!" the culprit yelped as she rubbed her injured paw. She was a young, pretty red squirrel, quite short for her age, she wore a bright red scarf around her neck and she carried a strange, wrapped bundle which she had slung behind her shoulder.

"Do that again and it'll be more than just a whack!" Abbess Linette threatened, brandishing her weapon- a long wooden spoon. A few moments of tense silence followed as they looked each other in the eyes. And slowly, their faces cracked into smiles.

"Haha," the squirrel giggled, "Well I almost had them that time, didn't I?"

"Well Sarrow, keep going at it and you'll be faster'n me someday," the hare winked before recieving a deathgrip hug.

"It feels great to be back, Abbess Linny!"

"Well you should visit more often, you young snip!" she detatched herself from the embrace and inspected the young squirrelmaid.

"Well you've certainly grown!" she exclaimed.

"Mmmhm!" Sarrow beamed at the compliment. Then she noticed a large shadow cast over her.

"Well if it isn't little Sarrow Longshot!" The squirrel looked up to see none other than Meles standing intimidatingly close. Of course, the sight of an old friend could never daunt her.

"Mel! I haven't seen you in such a long time. In a couple years, I think I'll be as tall as you," she joked.

"It's Meles," the badger said sternly but Sarrow just simply laughed.

"So where are your parents? They came too, didn't they?" the abbess asked.

"Oh, well they were just talking to Way the last time I saw them," the squirrel answered.

"Mind how you refer to your elders. Her name is Wayrin," Meles corrected her before leaving with Linette following suit.

"As for the others," Linette mentioned over her shoulder, "the otter crew hasn't arrived yet- unusual, really- and I don't know where the rest are. But you'll find Mirril busy in the kitchens as usual."

"Do hurry up, Linette," Meles scolded playfully, "We would be talking to Jurano and Arroway by now if you had been doing your job instead of stuffing your face!"

* * *

The kitchen was usually kept clean and neat but now it seemed as if a tornado had swept through it. Pots and pans were either left on the floor waiting to be scoured or they were on the stoves, empty and abandoned. Then there was that white splotch of flour on the floor. But despite its disorganized and shabby appearance, a wonderful, mouth-watering smell wafted from it.

Mirril hummed to herself as she carefully inspected her handiwork, holding it up to eye-level, checking at every angle. Once satisfied, she gently placed the pie in the oven and congratulated herself with a smile as she wiped the sweat off her brow.

"Job well done!" Siffle exclaimed, practically glowing with a sense of accomplishment, "I don't know what I'd do without you!"

"Oh I'm just helping out a little," Mirril replied.

"No not at all," the chubby mouse replied cheerfully, "after all, we've had more guests this season than ever before."

"Well, it just seems that way. With Mother Abbess eating so much, these pies are in high demand," she replied as she rolled up her sleeves.

"Hah! Abbess Linette isn't the only one eating like a hare," Siffle chuckled, "It seems that appetites grow by the seasons!" Mirril laughed at the comment gently while she started scrubbing the dishes.

"I tell you," Siffle continued, "I think this job is too much for one mouse. I'm lucky to have a helper today."

"Well I couldn't let you have all the work to yourself," she replied with another one of her bright smiles, "Your job is one of the most important in the entire abbey. Redwall is famous for its excellent food and I can't let that reputation go down."

"Well you've been here since dawn and you haven't taken a break! I could very well say that you spend more time in the kitchens than in the infirmary! Why don't you resign as Infirmary Keeper and stay in the kitchens?" Siffle joked playfully. At this Mirril gave a small, half-hearted smile. Siffle immediately detected her abrupt change in attitude.

"Something wrong?" he asked.

"Ah no!" she answered awkwardly, "I'm fine. It's just that I'm a little tired."

"Oh really? Well that's to be expected," the mouse answered, fully convinced. Just then a pair of arms reached out from behind Mirril and covered her eyes.

"Guess who!" a voice rang out. Startled, Mirril dropped the pot she was scrubbing on the floor, creating a soapy mess.

"Whoops!" the Sarrow immediately released Mirril and backed up into a pile of dishes, sending them crashing to the floor. Luckily, they were made of iron and didn't break.

"Oh Sarrow! Now look what you've done!" Siffle scolded while getting on his hands and knees to clean up the mess.

"Um... Sarrow, there's some clean hand towels over in that corner," Mirril instructed as she picked up the pots. Wordlessly, Sarrow did as she was told, this time without any hint of her wild enthusiasm. She presented the hand towels to Mirril, who made quick work with the puddle.

"Sorry," Sarrow mumbled. She heard an exasperated sigh from Siffle as he retreated to the kitchen pantry.

"There's nothing to be sorry about," Mirril said comfortingly, "It was an accident and it only took a while to fix."

"But what about your clothes?"

"Oh, well this was just a spare apron and it was already covered in flour to begin with. I was going to change before joining the festivities anyway," Mirril said after inspecting the damage.

"I can at least help you with the dishes," she offered.

"It's alright. We're almost done here anyway," Mirril smiled, "Besides, a guest of Redwall shouldn't be bothered with chores. If you don't get to the tables soon, Abbess Linette would probably finish everything!"

"I know," Sarrow smiled, "But there's something I have to do before that. Where's Melo? I have to show him something." She patted the bundle she carried, indicating its importance.

* * *

Melo was in a melancholy mood as he watched the festivities from the ramparts. He watched the dibbuns have boat races at the abbey lake, the adults talk, the visitors arrive, and of course he couldn't help but notice the wide spread of food on the tables.

He didn't know what he would do even if he were included. Usually he kept mostly to himself unless the otter crew were there. They were great warriors, after all, and Tarka would occasionally give in to Melo's constant requests and show him how to throw a javelin.

As for the Skipper, he obliged to show him how to use a sling when he was little. That is, until his mother found out and informed him that she didn't want him to know such skills.

"I want him to learn something useful- something that will contribute to the abbey," she had explained to Skipper gently, "And I just don't want him to get hurt."

Skipper had never brought up the topic of weaponry ever since then but Melo couldn't help but question the crew about the otter crew life, weapons, and most of all, their adventures- their brushes with death. Oh how he envied them all!

_Ssssshing! Snap!_

Melo spun around to see what had created the sound. There, discarded on the wall just five feet to his right he saw a snapped arrow and a mark where it had just hit the wall. He spun around once more to see the archer who was standing on the other end of the rampart.

"Are you crazy, Sarrow?" he yelled, "Are you trying to kill me?" She giggled in response.

"Is that how you talk to a best friend you haven't seen in over a season?"

"Not if she's gonna shoot arrows at me," he replied, not bothering to withhold the annoyance in his voice as he shoved his paws in his pockets, trying to regain his composure.

"Well that was a pretty good shot, huh?" she asked him as she tossed him a small bag of pastries.

"What's this?"

"Mirril told me to give them to you. She wanted you to have a piece of the feast," she replied nonchalantly. Of course, Melo knew where the subject was going.

"So what did you do this time?" she asked him gently as she watched him lean against the rampart walls.

"Nothin'," he answered, gazing at the happy crowd below him, "Nothing important. They're just overreacting as usual." He took a small bite of the pastry before his friend changed the subject.

"I forgot to show you something!" she held up a large, long object with both paws as if it was something sacred.

"You remember when I last came here, right? Well, you said that archery was of no use to real and physical combat. Well... I've been doing some work and my father and I had made it a little project of ours." Even when trying to keep an indifferent appearance, Melo couldn't help but feel tempted to snatch up the weapon and try it out.

It was no average bow, that was for sure. It was longer and its shape was bulkier in the middle but more slender towards the ends and it was made out of tough, strong wood and was polished to a glossy sheen. The tips of the bow were also strong, for they each had to support a leaf-shaped spearhead.

"We worked on the design for more than half a season, which was the hardest part because it had to be just right," she explained, hoping that she was impressing him, "And making it was difficult because we had to get the right type of wood and attatch the spearheads on the top. I can only use slicing motions with this weapon. Stabbing motions could possibly break it. We made five of them but only this one withstood our tests. It's one of a kind."

She backed off, pleased that she had gotten a satisfactory reaction from Melo. She had his complete and total attention at the moment and perhaps she's making him jealous- but that didn't matter at the moment. Not to her anyway. Taking a deep breath, she cleared her mind and concentrated on her routine.

Spreading her legs far apart for a strong sense of balance, she twirled her masterpiece expertly in her right paw. Then she jumped to the right, swinging the bow across in a wide arc_. Woosh_! She jumped backwards nimbly as she gracefully twirled her weapon like a baton over her head and shifted its position downwards quickly, swiping the weapon in a diagonal direction and grasped it with both paws.

Shifting her weight and taking forward steps as she moved her arms, the two spearheads took turns cutting the air in front of her at rapid pace. And finally, as if aiming for the neck of some invisible foe, she leaped up high in the air, slicing her weapon horizontally in a deadly stroke and landing low to the ground, a triumphant smile on her face.

"How was that?" she asked Melo.

"It was really impressive," another voice answered her. A lanky, young otter placed a large plate of cookies on top of the rampart wall.

"Tarka!" she exclaimed, "When did you get here?"

"Just a couple o' minutes ago," he grinned, "I snagged a plate of cookies for us so it could be just like old times."

"Good old Tarka! We could always count on you," Sarrow grabbed three cookies gleefully.

"No thanks," Melo said, "I'm full."

"But you didn't eat anything since the feast started," Tarka pointed out.

"I'm just not hungry," Melo repeated miserably as he stared at the festivites again.

"Well, we can remember the good old times," Sarrow suggested, "Remember when we were little, we were quite a trouble-making trio."

"You mean trouble-making _duo_," Tarka corrected, "I was just an innocent bystander who got dragged into your messes."

"Well what about those times you would cry and distract Friar Siffle while we snagged food from the kitchens?" the squirrel asked.

"That only happened twice," the otter argued back, "And you two wouldn't leave me alone."

"Melo, why don'cha forget the feast out there and just hang out with us. These visits don't come every day ya' know," Sarrow turned towards the gloomy mouse.

"I don't feel like talking."

"Well," Sarrow asked tentatively, "What if you joined in the festivities with us?"

"What?" Melo and Tarka asked in unison.

"Well, if you're so miserable, you should just sneak into the party. It'll only be for a few minutes, who's gonna notice?"

"Hmm..." Melo sighed, "I'm not going to stay for a few minutes... I'm going to stay at the feast for good."

"Melo, that's not a good idea. You'd have to do chores all over the abbey for at least two weeks. I think it's best that-" Tarka was interrupted.

"Wow, you really live up to your reputation as Rebel of Redwall," Sarrow said admiringly.

"Well, they're going to have to tolerate me for the rest of the night," Melo smirked, "If they don't like it, it's their problem." He strode towards the stairs with an air of contempt and confidence.

"Melo, you really shouldn't!" Tarka warned, but the mouse didn't bother indicating that he'd heard.

* * *

Skipper, unlike the rest of his crew, was laughing along with Foremole Dirrig and Hogan, the abbey cellarhog. He slurped up some of the shrimp and hotroot soup as he continued to joke with them, albeit half the time he couldn't tell what the mole was saying.

"Hello Skipper. Enjoying the feast?"

The burly otter winced at the familiar voice. He prayed it wasn't Melo. The mouse had already been in enough trouble. He turned around and there, standing proudly before him, was none other than young Bartholomelo.

"Melo, me mate," he grinned, though his skepticism showed, "Did Abbess Linette have a change of heart all of a sudden?"

"No," he smirked, "I'm taking part in this feast whether they want me or not."

* * *

_Keetch didn't know why, but he just couldn't move. Rooted to the spot, he watched the spectacle before him. Fog surrounded him and there, in the distance, was a fearsome armored mouse. And just as impressive as the warrior himself was the weapon he wielded. Despite its simple design, it was beautiful and fascinating. Its blade was sharp and had a deadly sheen to it and at its hilt was a red pommel stone. _

_Several vermin materialized in front of the warrior, closing in on him, threatening his existence. One was a large, gruesome rat with a jagged blade attatched to his tail. The other was a strangely masked fox. And the last one was a fierce, green-eyed wildcat. But as quickly as they appeared, they were immediately cut down by one swing of the sword. In anguished cries, they dematerialized, becoming one with the fog._

_He didn't know if he was hallucinating, but he heard the faint ringing of bells. Before he could ponder this further, he was horrified to see that he had captured the mouse's attention. The mouse slowly approached him as the fox remained immobile. He couldn't move and he couldn't talk- or scream for that matter. The bells rang louder, sounded less distant as the mouse slowly approached him. bong... Bong... BONG..._

**_BONG!_**

Keetch awoke with a start, sweating and panting as he sat up. Never in his life had he had such a dream. It was different. It felt so real. There was no doubt in his mind that this was no average dream. It was another one of those strange sensations- it had to be! He could feel it. This time, however, he couldn't decifer it. He didn't have a clue what it meant. Perhaps it was a warning to stay away from mice... or possibly bells?

His thoughts were interrupted by snoring. Turning around, he saw Brink sleeping in a sitting position, leaning against a tree with his paws clutching his sword, prepared to swing. Irked, the fox threw an acorn at his head.

"Huh?! Whazza'?" the otter sat up, drawing his sword and scanning his surroundings blearily, "Attacking who?"

"You were supposed to keep watch," Keetch rolled his eyes, "I stay up my half of the night all the time. What if somebeast sneaked up on us?"

"Wha'?" Brink yawned and stretched his arms.

"You fell asleep during your watch," Keetch answered, more irrate than usual.

"Huh? I was just so tired, ya know?" The fox couldn't help but utter some profanity at Brink's excuse.

"Well it's dawn already so we'll be on the move again," the fox snapped. Luckily, the otter was too tired to notice the anger in his voice and remained passive.

Then, just overhead, a hawk ensnared a dove in its talons. Their cry mingled together, creating a harsh sound somewhat similar to that of a bell.

Keetch, still haunted by his dream, crouched to the ground, his hands clutching his ears. Brink, on the other hand, only gazed up in wonder.

"Did you see that? That hawk just caught that bird in mid-air!" he said with wonderment, "Well, that sound sure did wake me up... Keetch?" The otter turned to his companion, who had gotten up on his paws. He was sweating, panting, his ears were flattened, and had a wild look in his eyes.

"Relax, mate," the otter said, "It was only two birds in the sky. Nothing here to 'arm us... are you okay?" In less than a minute, Keetch gradually calmed down.

"Let's just go," he said briskly as he took his pack and continued on their path East.

"Now I wonder what's botherin' him?" Brink muttered to himself, perplexed by the odd behavior.

_"It's no coincidence!"_ Keetch thought to himself, _"It's another omen... about bells. But what does it mean? Where around here would they have a bell?_

* * *

**OK, I hope you liked this chapter. I know it's lacking in the usual fight scenes and suspense but I wanted everyone to get the feel of the characters involved. This one was focused mainly on the Redwall characters and it introduced a brand new character, Sarrow Longshot. I hope the descriptions on her weapon and stuff made sense to you. If they didn't, please tell me so I can fix it. In fact, just picture an average bow with blades on each end. **

**And to answer your question, no, Sarrow doesn't love Melo. She's just a close friend but if you want a better description of her, just ask me for her character bio, since I'm still doing them. Also, tell me if you loved or hated her. I kinda love her and hate her.**

**Here's some more character ages: Sarrow (16) Tarka (12 or 13) Melo (15 or 16) **

**So what did you think about Keetch's dream sequence? Did you like it? Can you guess which villains he saw in his dream? If you have excellent memory and you've read all the books I bet you can remember the names.**

**If you can guess which Redwall book I got that "hawk and dove" thing from, I'll give you some spoilers on our main villains of the story (which, by the way, haven't even been hinted at or anything, but they come a little later in the story). Each person has only one guess and the deadline is by the time I post Chapter 16. YOU HAVE TO PM ME FOR THIS ONE!**

**So please Read and Review. All constructive criticism, ideas, fanfic suggestions (I like reading good Redwall Fanfics), corrections, etc. will be greatly appreciated. Let's see if I can break my record of 8 reviews this time.**

**And remember to try to get the contest question right for SPOILERS!**

**P.S. Did anyone watch the Avatar finale? I loved it but I just think that there were some more things that should've been included because some things just weren't explained. They should make a separate episode, this time as an epilogue 10 years later or something.**

**P.S.S. It's said on the Redwall Wikipedia that there will be a Redwall movie coming out in 2011. I'm not quite sure if this is true, since Wikipedia isn't always accurate but if you want to check it out, Google "Redwall movie" and it should be there. I want to thank StripeEar for the good news.**


	16. Talk of the Past

**Alright, this chapter is longer than I anticipated and it's kind of a filler since there really isn't anything too important. However, there are some interesting little mini-spoilers embedded in the dialogue so keep watch for them.**

**OK guys, I want to thank all 8 reviewers who reviewed last chapter: MangaHottie740, DPBClover, Wicket Dragon (anonymous, but he'll know it's him when he reads this), Jarrtail, Awsomewriter123, Adderstar of ValorClan, CinnamonPool, and FoxStar24. Thanks a bunch guys!**

**Well, here's the next one after the long wait.**

* * *

**Talk of the Past**

* * *

_This season's naming feast has been the best I've ever been to. Nearly everyone in Mossflower came from all around for the celebrations. The food was excellent as always but poor Abbess Linette had a stomache towards the end of the feast. Meles says that it was because she ate too much food, which I thought was impossible because after all, she is a hare. We named the season the Autumn of Moonlight, after the beautiful full moon last month. That night had a magical feeling to it because none of us had ever seen the moon grow so big and shine so brightly. Then, at the end of the feast, the dibbuns made small wooden boats (with the help of the otter crew) and set them on the lake with candles in them. With candles and the reflection of the full moon on the lake, it seemed to make everything illuminate and it was such a wonderful sight. From the infirmary windows, Sister Mirril and Mother Abbess said that it made the lake look like a mirror. I'm glad to see that the feast was such a success and I hope that occassions as wonderful as this will continue with the same spirit for many more seasons to come._

_Recorder of Redwall Abbey,_

_Quimby_

* * *

It was late at night and the feast had ended an hour ago and most of the abbeybeasts, tired from their long day, had already retired to their beds. Being so late, some of the guests decided to stay overnight and leave at dawn. But in Wayrin's room, all was not peaceful.

Confused and disheartened, she had called upon the company of some of her closest friends. Pallaprin sat comfortably on the bed and old Sister Agatha sat on a wooden rocking chair. Wayrin was standing, pacing as she poured out all her thoughts and troubles. Unfortunately, Abbess Linette was unable to make it, being that she was suffering from a stomachache. In her place was Arroway, who was leaning against the wall.

She was almost the mirror image of Sarrow and upon acquaintence, everybeast assumed that they were sisters. But unlike her daughter, she wasn't quite so short, enthusiastic, or loudspoken.

"I don't know what to do do with him anymore!" Wayrin said as she paced the room, trying to calm herself, "I remember when he was just a dibbun, he was so interested in Martin's sword and weaponry but... every dibbun was like that. Where did I go wrong? Why's he always like this? It's like he loves getting into trouble. He always does the exact opposite of what you want him to do!"

"Wayrin, it'll be alright. It's normal for children his age. They're big so they feel grown up so they try to act grown up by making their own decisions. It's alright. It's just a phase," Pallaprin soothed. But the fretful mother could not be consoled.

"No, no," she said as she breathed in deeply, "He's always been that way. He was just getting worse."

"That's because you're not disciplining him," Sister Agatha pointed out callously, "Since young, everybeast had pitied and coddled him because he was fatherless!Now look what's happened to him."

"Sister Agatha, please!" Pallaprin whispered.

"What? I'm just stating the truth," she said to the hogmaid, "His father was a fine gentleman, an image for our abbey. He could've possibly been Abbott someday but his son- oh his son! Why, in all my seasons, I had never seen such a-"

"You're not making things any better!" Arroway snapped coldly.

"Oh, but she's right," Wayrin despaired, "If only Bartholomew were here- it would never have gone so bad. Even when he was little, I never once punished him. He was all I had left and I just couldn't bring myself to make him hurt and unhappy." Silence followed and nobeast said a word, but just stared at the floor, unsure of the situation at hand.

"Well, it's always hard to discipline children," Pallaprin said gently, "But sometimes it's best if there's some communication. You two should talk about your feelings and understand each other."

"Oh posh!" Agatha exclaimed, "There's nothing to be said! Young Bartholomelo knows full well that he's upsetting his mother! He'll have her gray before her time! Nothing is to be said about that scoundrel!"

"I agree with Pallaprin," Arroway said, "Even Sarrow and I have our share of quarrels from time to time. We wait for some time for us to think about things and then we talk. It patches things up nice and quick!" She snapped her fingers for the effect.

"Yes," Pallaprin spoke up, "Like that!" She was relieved. She could already feel the heavy spirits in this room lifting. However it was about to be brought back down.

"But we've talked before," Wayrin said, "Dozens of times, and never once had he listened. It just doesn't work."

"But when you two talk, it's a one-way conversation," Pallaprin said, "Scolding is not the same as talking so don't punish him outright. You should try to see his point of view."

"Yes, and make sure that it's at the right time. Have biscuits and some tea in the room so that everyone's nice and comfortable. Oh, and make sure that it's quiet and there are no disturbances," Arroway added.

"Hmmm..." Wayrin said thoughtfully, "I think you're right. I'll take your advice."

"But the boy clearly needs to be scolded," Agatha exclaimed.

"He's been scolded all his life," Arroway pointed out, "And it hasn't worked at all. From what I've heard from Sarrow, it just aggrivates him."

"Well I'll be going to my room now," the elderly mouse said bitterly, "I didn't stay up so late just to be ignored."

"Sister Agatha, it's not like that..." Pallaprin said.

"Sister Agatha-" Wayrin called to the mouse. But she was already gone.

"Oh dear," Pallaprin sighed. Perhaps now that they've found a new solution for Bartholomelo, they should try to find something for Sister Agatha.

"Well I don't see why she's here," Arroway said coldly, "She was never a close friend of ours anyway and nothing she ever says is helpful. She just adds flames to the fire."

"But as the Abbey Tutor, she knows Bartholomelo very well. He used to spend hours in class almost every day," the mousemaid said.

"You know she's always hated him. She sees him in the worst possible way," the squirrel pointed out, "Everybeast knows that Melo is a good beast. Remember when River Moss overflooded and many homes had to be rebuilt? Melo was one of the first to volunteer and he worked harder than anybeast- Skipper said so. And how about that time when Melo rescued little Rupp when he was stuck in a tree?"

"Ah, yes," Wayrin smiled at the glowing remarks before she heard shoutings down the hall, "Oh no!" They raced down the hall, completely sure of where the voices were coming from- Melo's room. In fact, it seemed that all of Redwall had appeared to see what it was all about.

"You take that back, wrinkle face!" Melo's voice shouted.

"You have no right to insult me, you rude little vermin!" Sister Agatha's sharp voice rang.

"Don't call me a vermin, ugly! It's no wonder why nobeast ever married you!" Everbeast present gasped at this comment.

"You're wrong! And all I hear about you are complaints! Everybeast is tired of having you around to disturb us all! You're a nuisance to this abbey and you know it!"

"Liar! You're just stupid and bitter because nobeast likes you. Wait, you know what? _It is_ because you're stupid and bitter that nobeast likes you!"

"Why you little- if your father were alive today-"

"Don't talk to me about _my_ father!"

"Oh, I knew your father well and I say, he'd be ashamed to call you son!" She said, glad that she had struck a nerve.

"Shut the hell up!" he clenched his fists, baring his teeth dangerously as he approached the old mouse, who all of a sudden seemed afraid of his appearance. Wayrin knew exactly what was going to happen next.

"Stop it!" she shouted as she grabbed his wrists and held him back.

"Hey! Let go of me!" he struggled against her grip.

"Ha!" Agatha crowed, "This abbey is for proper beasts! You should learn to be like one!"

"Let me go!" he yelled as he managed to take several steps forward.

"WHAT IS GOING ON HERE?!" a dangerous voice boomed throughout the halls. Instantly, everybeast stopped what they were doing and made way for Meles.

"What. Is. Going. On. Here?" the badger asked in a menacingly low voice. She stepped into the room as Melo slumped, all the anger and fury replaced with fear and shame.

"It's that scoundrel!" Sister Agatha complained, "He would've had me killed if his mother hadn't intervened!"

"Oh _shut up_!" Melo raged, "I was sleeping and she just burst into my room and started ranting about how I don't belong here and how I don't deserve to live here and whatever prattling nonsense she always says!"

"Enough!" Meles ordered, "Everybeast go back to your rooms. We'll handle this... NOW!" The beasts hesitantly left the area and retreated to their rooms, pondering what was to be the fate of the young rebellious mouse.

* * *

The next day, Brink and Keetch continued walking down the dirt path through Mossflower. The tree branches looked quite bare and the ground was littered with red and orange leaves and several would sometimes float downward like snow. Brink let a hot breath escape his lips experimentally and watched the vapor float upwards and disappear in the air.

"We should get off the roads," Keetch said.

"Huh? Why off the roads? Everything's fine," the otter rolled his eyes.

"What about thieves? They _always_ attack travelers on the road!"

"What's wrong with you recently? Sheesh, you get more and more paranoid every day," Brink pointed out, "Is there something you're not telling me?"

"I'm just being cautious," Keetch lied, "We haven't met any goodbeasts since we left Salamandastron- not an incident. _Why_?"

"Uhhh..."

"I'll tell you why! It's because they can't live here! It's because it's not safe in these parts!" he waved his arms erratically.

"You know what," Brink speculated, "I think it's those nightmares you've been having."

"_Nightmares?!_ What nightmares?" Keetch hadn't ever told him about his dreams or his "experiences". He hadn't even hinted at it. In fact, his dreams just kept getting worse and worse. Every night that warrior mouse would approach him and he would always wake up to the sound of the bells just before he could see his face.

"Don't lie, you stink at that," Brink rolled his eyes once more, "Anybeast can see right through you like glass! Anyway, I _do _keep watch at night and for the past three nights in a row, you've been struggling in your sleep."

"Let's just change the subject," the fox said furtively.

"Suit yourself."

"Well," Keetch said, "Why are we heading East? I mean, when are you going to stop traveling?"

"I haven't really thought of that," Brink mumbled, "I think I'll be a wanderer for the rest of my life."

"The rest of your life? What about all the good beasts we've met? Doesn't it bother you that whatever friends you make, you'll probably never meet again? What is it that you love about wandering? What exactly are you looking for?"

"Dunno," the otter replied, "I guess I'm looking for adventure. Don't tell me you just want to stay stuck in a boring little village for the rest of your life- all safe and secure. You haven't truly lived unless you've had your own experience- something that would make everyone know your name and recognize you for whatever it is you've done!"

"No, I don't know what you're talking about. In fact, I think I'd trade half of my lifespan away if I could live in some 'boring little village'. At least I'll have some peace and quiet there."

"Pity," the otter shook his head in mock sympathy, "I always figured you for the travelin' type. By the way, what you just said a moment ago makes me think you've had a terrible life in the past. I was wonderin'-"

"Don't want to talk about it," Keetch said with an edge. A look of annoyance flashed in front of Brink's eyes before he forced his anger down.

"Okay, okay," he smiled disarmingly, "Don't get upset now. Nobeast's forcing you to talk. How about a game, you like games?"

"What kind of game?" Keetch asked nervously, controlling his breathing as another one of his painful memories surfaced. _A cold, dark room. A torch blazing in front of his face. "Tell me, do you like games?" the torchbearer asked, cackling cruely._

"It's simple. I ask you a question. If you choose to answer it, you have to answer it truthfully. Then I have to answer that question after you. When you answer three questions, it's your turn to ask them. Got it?"

"And if you don't want to answer it?" Keetch asked.

"Then I don't have to. Simple as that!"

"Alright," Keetch agreed, "But I want to be the one that chooses to ask the questions first."

"Okay," Brink smiled, "Go ahead."

"First question," Keetch began, "Where were you born?"

"Hah! Easy! I was born on Seafoam Islands. It's just a little island that serves as a port in the south. It has some very nice fish there. Now you answer the question."

"I don't know where I was born."

"Aw come on now! That's cheating!" the otter objected.

"No it's not," Keetch said defensively, "It's the truth. I really don't know. Telling somebeast you don't know _isn't_ the same as saying you won't tell him anything."

"Fine, fine, fine," the otter snorted, "You're no fun with games. Next question."

"My next question: What's your family like?"

"My family?" Brink scratched the back of his head as he recalled them, "I have a mother, a father, and a little sister. Now your turn."

"You didn't tell me what they're like yet," Keetch pointed out.

"Oh yeah. Me mom makes the best stews I've ever tasted. But the best thing about her is that she can always cheer you up and get you to see the light o' things. And then there's me dad. He's an excellent fisherman, alright. I remember when he would take me on his fishing trips. He'd let me reel the fish in when he's got a biter on his line. That was when I was little though. When I got older, he let me help him pull the nets in. Boy, did we have a lot of fish! And my little sister- well she's smart! She could read better than me when she was just seven. Of course, I wasn't very sharp at reading. My mother said that my handwriting is 'atrocious'- whatever that means. She used to be real cute but then she got bossy sometimes. I hope she doesn't stay like that. That's it."

Brink looked expectantly at Keetch. For once, he didn't seem to mind listening to him talk. In fact, he looked happy. His eyes had a faraway look in it as if he were dreaming of the place, imagining living there.

"Ahem," Brink cleared his throat rudely, "Your turn."

"I don't remember ever having a family," the warm look in Keetch's eyes faded, leaving it cold and empty, "And if I do, I hope I never get the chance to meet them."

"Psh! That doesn't really answer much."

"I'm sorry, but I can't just lie and talk about them as if they were real! Anyway, my next question is... do you miss your family? Ah wait, no. What are their- no. How about... hmmm... that's not a very good question. Do you ever think about coming back... er, wait... I _really_ want to ask that question, though. Hmmmm..."

"Just ask me the damn question already!" Brink snapped.

"Okay, fine! What's your fondest memory of your home?"

"My fondest memory? Ah geez, that's a tough one," Brink squinted his eyes as he pondered the question.

"Don't tell me you never think back to it!"

"Of course I think back to good memories!" Brink answered, "I'm just trying to pick the best one."

"You could just talk about all of them," Keetch suggested.

"Nah... I've got it! When I was just six, there was a powerful storm headin' for Seafoam. Everybeast was told to close all the doors and windows and nail them shut. I remember everybody running and hurrying to do things. I had to stay indoors all day while my dad made sure our fishing boat was safe. Then he helped our neighbors with stuff. After that, when the storm hit, we felt our house shaking because o' the wind. I remember I was really scared so we huddled together by the fireplace- just me, my dad, and my mom, who was carrying little infant Cora. Then we stayed up and told stories and talked until the storm was over and it was safe to come out. I remember that everybeast in town was alright and I bragged to everybeast that I was brave and that I wasn't scared because I wasn't alone- and that I didn't cry not even the tiniest bit..." his eyes shone with recognition, "Now your turn."

"Hmmm... I don't have any fond memories of _that_ place."

"Argh..." Brink moaned, frustrated.

"Calm down," Keetch said evenly, "It's just that whatever days that were pleasant for me were days when I had enough food to eat and had a warm fire to sit by. Those were _my_ happy days."

"Well," Brink said awkwardly, "I suppose that counts as an answer. Now it's my turn to ask questions. Okay, let's see... right now, what's the best thing you love about traveling?" After a moment of careful consideration, Keetch answered.

"I hate it. I think I would've stayed with Ma Krammel if things didn't turn out badly. I want to settle down and stay somewhere nice someday. You know, live a life of peace and quiet, just feel safe. But... I do like having a friend by my side," he ended the statement awkwardly.

"Well, I love the fact that I never know what's next! One day you could be starving and the next, you found a whole bushel of apples and nothing in the world could make you happier! Then there's meeting new creatures. I got to meet Lord Rathor and all sorts of other goodbeasts and who knows who I'm going to bump into next? You never know, and that what makes every day a surprise, it makes it special," he said enthusiastically.

"I'd rather live a stable life," Keetch mumbled, "You're crazy."

"Well, nobeast asked you for _your_ opinion, now did they?" Brink snapped, "Next question. Did you ever kill anybeast?"

"You know the anwer to that question, Brink," Keetch sighed, "I killed Captain Skeel and that Flayhide, remember? You saw them both."

"No, I meant, did you ever... you know, end any innocent lives?" At this, Keetch shot him a dirty glare.

"I don't want to answer that question," he scowled.

"Okay fine then. I'll just ask you another question-"

"No," Keetch argued, "That one counted. You asked me whether I killed anybeast. That includes vermin. If you wanted that question to count, you should've been more specific!"

"Alright then," Brink rolled his eyes, "You wanted to ask me this question, so I'll ask it for you. Do you ever want to return to your home?"

"Me? I want to stay as far away as that place as I can," he answered bitterly, "That's the reason why I was dragged upon that slaveship in the first place. It's because I chose to run away from it forever." He gave Brink a look that indicated that he didn't want to say any more.

"Well, I love my home but I don't want to have to deal with my dad after running away. He would skin me alive when he sees me. He would say I deserved it and that it was out of love because I made everyone worried sick. They should know that I'll be just fine. If they had just let me go on my adventure, I'd have been able to give them a proper good-bye instead of having to sneak off in the middle of the night... what?" He turned to Keetch, who was staring at him.

"Oh nothing," he said, "It's just that I think that you _would _deserve it."

"Hey, that's none of your business!" Brink snarled.

"It's my turn to ask questions."

"I'm not playing anymore," Brink huffed.

"Fine by me." A few moments of silence followed before Brink cooled down enough to talk again.

"I guess it worked then."

"What do you mean?" Keetch inquired.

"I mean, it made you calm down and now I know a bit more about you now... actually, no I don't think I know much about you still."

"Hm, you're right," Keetch said thoughtfully, "It did keep my mind off things. Thanks."

"No problem," Brink smiled. But the pleasant moment was interrupted by some shouting in the distance.

"What's that?" the otter asked himself, "Let's go see!"

"Brink, stop!" But the otter was already charging towards the sounds at full speed.

"There really is no stopping him," Keetch sighed as he followed behind.

* * *

**Well there you have it. I hope you guys spotted at least a couple of little hints and spoilers in this chapter. I really enjoyed writing Keetch and Brink's dialogue. It was a kinda warm and fuzzy part and I just loved how it turned out. I'm kind of unsure of the Redwall section, though. I got very positive reviews from the last chapter because of the Redwall characters so I'm hoping this one will turn out just as well.**

**As for the contest, I'm going to extend it to give all you other guys some extra time. I'll even throw in a hint: There is a REAL seer in this book. Congrats to JarrTail, DPBClover, and MangaHottie740 for getting the right answer. To find out more about this contest, look at the Author Notes at the end of the last chapter. Remember, PLEASE PM ME if you think you have the answer!!**

**Next Chapter: Talk of the Past**


	17. Imbroglio

**Alright, here comes chapter 17. Honestly, I didn't plan the story to be this long. The story and characters just expanded on their own so now I predict that this could take up to 40 chapters. That's OK though because I enjoy doing this. Plus, I predict that there will be a big Redwall Fanfic boom around the publication of The Doomwytes. **

**_And guess what, The Doomwytes review (and several spoilers) have just been released. Scroll down to the bottom of the chapter to learn how to get there!!_**

**This chapter is supposed to be kind of humorous this time around. The character names are all made by me except for Grenn and Cadro's names (which I stole from BJ's books).**

**I want to thank FoxStar24, MangaHottie740, DPBCLover, JarrTail, Awsomewriter123, and CinnamonPool for their reviews. I really appreciate them and I check my email almost every 15 minutes just to hear from you guys.**

* * *

**Imbroglio**

* * *

"That's right! One, two, three, _push_!" Log-a-log Urfo commanded his shrews. He shook his head as he inspected the improvement of the situation. Sadly, the boat was still stuck in mud. Panting from his efforts, the shrews leaned against the logboat. At this, Urfo took this oppurtunity to lecture little brother once more.

"See what kind of trouble you cause us, Finlo? How many times must I tell you never to drag the logboats so far into the bank? You're supposed to leave it _near_ the bank and tie the rope somewhere!"

"Sorry log-a-log," his brother responded dejectedly as he scanned the frustrated faces of his fellow shrews. Of the five shrews, he was the smallest and youngest, and at the moment, he wished he could disappear.

"Well, never mind. Let this be another lesson to you, then," Urfo said gruffly, "Now everybeast get ready to push to the count of three! One, two, three, _PUSH_!!" The five shrews grunted as they tried to free the boat from the sticky mud, but it was no use.

"Aaah," one of the shrews groaned as he wiped his brow, "We'll never meet up with the others in time."

"Aye, we'll be late," the log-a-log replied, "But we shouldn't keep them waiting by sitting around moaning about it, now once more, push on the count of-"

"Hi there!" a voice called down. The shrews turned around to see a young sea otter appear behind the shrubs and slide down the muddy hill.

"Hello there," log-a-log greeted politely. He hadn't seen this one before, since sea otters were quite rare this far inland. He was quite a young one, and he was only wearing a simple light brown tunic, was equipped with a short sword, and had a silver bracelet on his left arm. However, on a closer look, Urfo grimly recognized it as a manacle- a mark of slavery.

Then, upon reaching them, the otter did something that completely surprised the shrews.

"Hi there, little one," he knelt down to Urfo's level and offered his paw, "My name is Brink. What are you doin' all by yourselves?" Ordinarily, the shrews would've taken this condescending gesture as an offense but the otter's expression was so innocent and friendly, the shrews just didn't know how to react.

"Erm... uh..." Urfo awkwardly shook his paw, "My name is Log-a-log Urfo and we are the Gousim. The rest of us are somewhere downstream and we're plannin' on meeting them."

"Oh, I see, well it looks like you need some help with this canoe of yours," Brink smiled, "I'd be happy to lend you guys a paw."

"Alright," Urfo responded hesitantly as the otter grabbed the side of the logboat.

"One, two, three, push!" he commanded. Grabbing a hold of the side, they pushed and they covered more ground, but not quite enough.

"How did it get stuck like this?" Brink asked.

"Well," Urfo explained, "We banked the logboats last night- the moon was nearly full, see- so the river was higher. Then we came back here in the afternoon when it was low tide and it was like this."

"Oh, that's too bad," Brink replied before changing to a more hopeful tone, "But I'm sure that your parents will come soon to help you out. They couldn't be too far off, now could they?" The otter looked back to where he came from as if expecting somebeast.

"Listen, you," Finlo stood up from the mud, "I think you've been mistaken. We're-"

"Excuse me just for a second," Brink interrupted as he dashed back up the hill and into the shrubs. The shrews scratched their heads in disbelief, baffled at the newcomer.

"Log-a-log," one of the shrews asked, "Is he pulling our tail? He's talkin' to us as if we were dibbuns!"

"I know," Finlo gritted his teeth, "He's mocking us! I say we should hang him by the tail!"

"Finlo!" Log-a-log hissed, "You will do no such thing! It wouldn't help anything!"

"But are you just going to let that otter insult us?" the young shrew pointed out, "He obviously thinks little of us because of our size!"

"It doesn't make sense for him to mock us when we don't even know him," Urfo reasoned. Just at that moment, Brink came crashing down the muddy hill, dragging some other beast with him.

"Ow ow ow! Let go! Let go! Let go! Let go of _me_!" he protested as he was dragged by the arm. Shielding his eyes from the sun, Log-a-log Urfo tried to identify the mysterious creature.

_"Another sea otter maybe?"_ he thought to himself, _"Wait a minute... tall, slim build... long, furry tail... pointed ears... A _fox_?!"_ Out of instinct and past experiences, his paw shot down to the knife handle on his belt. Upon seeing his reaction, the rest of the shrews assumed the worst, reaching for their weapons as well.

* * *

"Stop pulling at me!" Keetch hissed.

"Come on," Brink urged, "Quit skulking around! I think if we help them we can get on their canoes. We'd cover more ground that way!"

"No way! I don't do good on water and we should just keep our distances!" Keetch tugged his arm out of Brink's grip, "We can't trust anybeast right now!"

"You're just being paranoid," Brink argued, "There are only five of them."

"We're still outnumbered, though," Keetch reasoned.

"But their just little mice barely out of their tenth season. Don't tell me you're _afraid_ of them."

"Are you blind or just stupid?! They're _not_ mice!" Keetch exclaimed, "And they're _not_ children! It's so obvious by the way they speak and how deep their voices are!" Brink's eyes widened at the possibility before he awkwardly glanced at the staring shrews.

"Then what are they?"

"I don't know," Keetch rolled his eyes, slightly embarrassed by his companion's ignorance.

"But you have to know! I can't just go over there and ask them what they are- that would be insulting them. If I was wrong, then I'm just making a big fool of myself!"

"You already do look like a fool," Keetch sighed, "If they aren't within earshot, you might as well ask them... oh no, here comes one of them." Brink turned around to see Urfo heading up the muddy bank. Hesitating, Brink gave a crooked smile.

"Hey there... uh..." his voice faltered as he cleared his throat.

"You're still helpin' us, right?" Urfo asked in an equally awkward voice as he halted right in front of them. He tilted his head to the side as he inspected the fox, who stood to the side, facing away from him as if doing so could possibly hide his presence.

As for Brink, he didn't know what to say. Not only had he humuliated himself, but he must have insulted them. It seemed that he was always capable of unintentionally bringing the worst out of situations.

"I suppose so," Brink answered, noticing the suspicious glance Keetch recieved, "... I'm... I'm... I'm just wondering... how old are you?" He cringed at the sheer randomness of his question and Keetch averted his gaze, unsure of the outcome.

"Hm?" the confused shrew replied, "Well, I'm just past my 30th season I suppose. Why?" Brink groaned inwardly at the shrew's response.

"Well, I'm sorry," he apologized, "I- uh... I must have insulted you earlier. I... I thought you were children." Stunned silence followed before Urfo let out a peal of loud laughter.

"Hahaha! This is th' first time- hahaha- this has ever happened!" he replied. Brink, although relieved that the creature had no hard feelings, was still feeling nervous.

"So if you and your groups aren't mice, then what are you?" Keetch interrupted awkwardly. Urfo brought his laughter to an abrupt stop.

"Pardon my manners," he said cooly, "My name is Log-a-log Urfo and we're shrews."

"Shrews?" they both repeated the foreign word.

"Shrews of the Guosim," Log-a-log explained proudly, "Guosim stands for the 'Guerilla Union Of Shrews In Mossflower.'"

"I'm sorry," Brink repeated, "We're just travelers so we never heard of shrews- or seen any for that matter."

"It's fine," Urfo reassured, "I got a good laugh anyway, eh?" He punched Brink in the arm good-humoredly, though the otter still flinched slightly at the impact, realizing how far he'd underestimated them. They were very small, but he felt the shrew's strength in one playful hit. Who knows what kind of damage they could inflict if they had an intent to kill? He gulped at the thought of the violent scenario he could have triggered back at the river.

"Oi!" a shrew called from river, "Are you three goin' to stay up there all day or are we going to leave now?"

"Yes, yes!" Urfo shouted back, "Hold on just a moment." He began his decent down the hill with Brink and Keetch following suit. Keetch held Brink back slightly so that they were far enough from Urfo to be out of earshot.

"Can we trust them?" Keetch asked, glancing at the shrews.

"They seem friendly enough," Brink replied.

"True, but we can't trust anybeast we see."

"I don't see why not. We might get something out of this too."

"I'm not quite sure," Keetch said with his eyes transfixed on the small band of shrews, "When he was coming near us, his paw was resting on his knife."

"Not to insult you Keetch, but you're a vermin. They're right not to trust you. Just stick with me and I'll vouch for ye," Brink patted him on the shoulder before brushing past him.

"So, when we get out of this little predicament," Urfo offered, "We'll take you on the boats if you're heading Southeast."

"Yeah," Brink replied overgraciously, "That sounds great. Thank you!"

"Now, you're Brink, right?" Urfo asked, "Well, I'd like you to meet the crew. There's me little brother Finlo, then there's Grenn, Cadro, and Gulf."

"Hi there. I'm Brink and this is my friend Keetch," the otter pointed a claw at the silent fox standing beside him. The shrews looked at the otter and fox skeptically, noting their matching manacles.

"Listen up," Urfo said enthusiastically, "Guess what all the confusion was about! Brink thought that we were dibbun mice! Hahahahaha! Dibbun mice! Hahahahahaha!" The rest of the shrews, with the exception of Finlo, laughed along, glad to be out of the tense atmosphere.

"Well what are we waiting for?" Brink interrupted the moment, "let's get to it."

"Ah- hahaha... ha, right," Urfo and the others recovered from his laughter and began giving orders, "Grenn and Cadro, take the left side. Keetch- the back, and Brink- you should take the front and pull the logboat in. Finlo and I will take the right side." Quickly, everybeast got into position.

"One, two, three. _Push_!" The logboat gained a little bit of ground before it came to a halt.

"That's pretty good," Log-a-log encouraged, "Better than before. Let's keep it up."

* * *

Before long, the boat was back on the water. Everybeast cheered as they boarded the logboat. That is, everybeast except for Keetch.

"Come on Keetch, get in!" Brink called out.

Keetch groaned before stepping into the river, grimacing every step of the way.

"Uh... Mr. Log-a-log sir," Keetch said sheepishly, "I'm afraid I'm not too good on water." The shrews began chuckling among themselves. But of course, Urfo was the loudest of them all.

"Don't worry," he said somewhat patronizingly, "This is no rough and wild sea we're ridin' on. This is the calm, gentle current of River Moss. At least, it's gentle where we're headin'."

Finding his voice, Finlo decided to ask a question, hoping that it wouldn't make him seem ignorant or inexperienced. After all, there must be at least one other shrew that was puzzled by the fox's fur color.

"So fox, why is your fur brown and white?" he asked hesitantly, "Did you dye it that way?" Before Keetch could answer the familiar question, one of the other shrews answered it for him.

"If you paid attention to history you would've known that he's from the North," Cadro said, "Remember the story of Gulo the Savage? He brought a whole horde of white vermin with him. One of them being the snow foxes," then he turned to Keetch, "Then you're from the North, isn't that right?" Again, before Keetch could speak, he was once again interrupted.

"Of course I heard the story," Finlo insisted, "But his fur is brown with patches of white. It's only _half_ white! He must be a mix of some brown fox and snow fox or somethin'."

"But I'm-" Once again, Keetch was cut off, this time by Brink.

"Well, it's common knowledge that the snow foxes come from the North. Being that they have their own winter and summer months, their fur turns brown to accomodate the summer weather. Then, they grow thick, white fur for the winter," Brink explained, trying to sound as resourceful as possible.

"Really now?" Urfo turned his attention to Keetch, "Well you're long way from the Dark North, aren't you."

"I'm familiar with that place but I have no intention to stay there," the fox replied firmly.

"Hm," Urfo replied, raising an eyebrow.

"Come on Keetch," Brink urged impatiently, "Just get on the boat!"

Gingerly, the fox climbed aboard and leaned near the edge, prepared for any bouts of seasickness. The shrews tentavely gripped their paddles and began rowing, leaning as far away from Keetch as they could.

"He's always been that way," Brink explained quickly.

"Speaking of 'always', how long have you two been traveling together?" Gulf asked.

"Well, let's see... I don't quite remember anymore," Brink replied, "We met on a slaveship, you see." The shrews leaned closer to the otter, eager to hear every word.

"A slaveship? How did you escape?" Finlo inquired, saying something to Brink for the first time, "How did you meet?"

"Hm... let me think," Brink scratched the back of his head, trying to recall the memory, "I was a slave and he was a slavedriver-"

"I was captured and _forced_ to be a slavedriver on The Pillager," Keetch corrected.

"Right. Then for some reason... um Keetch, why were ye made a slave?" Brink asked.

Keetch hesitated before answering sheepishly, prepared for the humiliation.

"Because I threw up on Captain Skeel," he mumbled. Immediately, the shrews and the otter were in an uproar.

"Really?! Keetch, if you told me that the first time we met, things could've been a lot smoother!" Brink said between laughs.

"Haha, very funny," Keetch said with an edge of sarcasm in his voice. Brink didn't hear it, though, and continued with his story. Of course, he couldn't help exaggerating at times.

* * *

The sun was setting, casting a warm glow that seemed to make the redstone abbey illuminate in a rosy pink hue. Melo was bent on his knees as he scrubbed down the stony floor of Cavern Hole. He sighed as he looked up at the kindly face on Redwall's famous tapestry. The Great Martin the Warrior was staring down at him, his brave and noble face smiling.

_"If he were here right now, I bet he'd be looking at me with disgust,"_ Melo thought to himself, _"I bet he never had to be punished and scrub down the abbey."_

"Keep'um workin, young Melo," Foremole Dirrig said as he passed by, "You'm doan slack off naow. Iz only for 'alf a zeazin." Melo nodded his way respectfully as the mole disappeared down the hall.

He breathed out a disheartened sigh as he brought his attention back to his task. Champion of Redwall... It seemed as if he would never recieve the ancient and honorable position that started with his idol, Martin the Warrior. Since young he'd been dreaming of it, relishing the thought of having that mighty sword in his paws. He tilted his head upwards to see the shining weapon hanging above the tapestry, seeming to call to him.

Of course, he was forbidden to touch any weapons, even if it was Redwall's sacred symbol of strength. Such things were only suitable for trained warriors like the otters and the Champion of Redwall. Of course, Sarrow, his friendly rival, was an exception. She was fortunate enough to be born into a family of travelers and archers.

_It has been nearly two seasons since I'd last seen her, so how much did her skills improve since then? Is she an expert by now? She was always gifted..._

He sighed again as he dunked his cloth in the bucket of soap-water. Not only was she a potential contender for the title, but unlike him, she was actually well-liked in the abbey. It was yet another factor that lessened his odds.

Never before in the records was there any warrior that had a similar reputation as Melo- save for a certain young mouse by the name of Matthias Methuselah Mortimer- better known as Mattimeo. But he was different. He was the son of one of Redwall's most legendary heroes. Of course, Matthias was nothing compared to Martin, but nonetheless, he was a mouse that was worthy of the title, and Melo admired him for it.

The mouse sighed as he considered how far off the mark he was. He was the son of a simple brother of Redwall- nothing special. And to add to that, it seemed as if the chance to prove his bravery would never come. All his life he'd never seen any vermin and had only heard stories of them from the history lessons and records. And it even seemed as if the vermin sightings in these parts were going down. As Skipper put it, "They're dumb, but not dumb enough to know what's not good for 'em."

"Now I wonder, what are you thinking about now?" Melo instantly recognized that gentle voice.

"Hello Sister Mirril," he greeted her as he looked up from his work. She was wearing a plain and simple brown dress with her usual infirmary smock, holding a large plate of honeyed scones- fresh from the oven.

"Sorry I didn't get to talk to you often," she said, "Everything's just been so busy lately because of the feast."

"It's alright," he replied tersely as he scrubbed at a black mark on the floor.

"Here, have some," she offered.

"I can't," he replied, "I'm not allowed to have any breaks. I'm practically a _slave_ here."

"Oh, well that's just fine," she said, a little crestfallen, "I'll just set it on the window then." She delicately placed the plate on the windowsill, hoping that the sight of delicious sweets wouldn't attract the attention of dibbuns.

"I'm sorry you went through all that trouble for nothing," he said after a while, "You don't have to wait for me. You can just eat them... Or you can give them to Abbess Linette... if she's recovered from her stomachache."

"Huh?" Mirril asked, tilting her head, "Melo, it was no trouble at all. In fact, I didn't make them." At that, Melo's eyes flew open, his face the picture of shock.

"You _stole_ them from the kitchens?! If Siffle finds out, he'll have your tail!"

"No, no, no," she giggled, "Remember that dibbun, Aduna?"

"_She_ made them? She should replace Friar Siffle already!" he exclaimed. The mousemaid could only heave an exasperated sigh at his lack of logic.

"Don't be daft Melo. She didn't _make_ them, her mother did. Pallaprin told her to give it to the dibbuns but instead she came into the Infirmary and gave it to me because she couldn't find you."

"She was looking for _me_?"

"She didn't know where to find you so she asked me to make sure they got to you. Isn't that sweet? Since when did you get so popular with the dibbuns?" she teased. Melo began scrubbing a small mark on the floor vigorously, trying in vain to hide his embarrasment.

Laughing at his reaction, Mirril turned to look out at the abbey gardens, only to find her smile fading. What she was seeing wasn't a scene of beauty and tranquility.

"Dibbuns can be so cruel sometimes," she sighed regretfully.

"What? Where?" Melo abandoned his duties and leaned out the window to get a better look. In the stretch of grass were four dibbuns- a hedgehog, a squirrel, a vole, and a mouse.

"It's that trio again," Mirril replied. Melo instantly recognized the hedgehog as Aduna, his little benefactor. She was at the center of the other three dibbuns who formed a triangle around her. Rupp the squirrel held a small toy doll above Aduna's reach as the others cheered him on. Laughing, he tossed it to Switch the mouse. As soon as Aduna came running toward her, she threw it to the vole, Toggle.

"Stop it! Please! Give it back!" she pleaded as she chased after her raggedy doll.

"If you wan' it, you have to get it!" Rupp taunted.

"But it's mine!" Aduna whined.

"I don't understand why Pallaprin even tries to make them get along!" Mirril wrinkled her nose in disgust. To her dismay, Melo wasn't even paying attention to her or the scene outside the window. Instead, he was collecting the scones on the plate.

"Melo!" she scolded, snatching the plate out of his reach. It didn't matter, though. He already had all he needed- three scones. Taking a quick but careful aim, he threw a scone down with force and heard a satisfying "Ouch!" as his weapon met its target.

"Melo, what did you do!?" Mirril exclaimed. Melo simply shrugged in response as he smirked and raised the second scone in his hand. "Oof!" Once again, he was glad that Tarka showed him how to use a sling. It improved his aim immensely!

"One more to go!" Melo threw the last one with deadly precision as it hit Rupp square in the face.

The dibbuns released their prisoner, allowing the hogmaid to scoop up her most prized possession. They inspected what hit them, recognizing it immediately.

"They're scones!" Rupp exclaimed before licking it testily, "Mmm... with honey!"

"I'm all sticky!" Toggle giggled as they smeared it all over themselves playfully.

"But where did they come from?" Switch asked as she scanned the area. Of course, Melo and Mirril were nowhere to be found, for they were sitting under the windowsill, stifling their laughter.

"What's going on here?" a shrill voice rang out, "Oh my heavens!" Cautiously, the two mice peeked above the windowsill to see poor Sister Paisley chasing after them. The mousemaid's shouting attracted the attention of several other members of the abbey- including Friar Siffle.

"Why are you all smothered in honey?" they gasped as they rushed over to the dibbuns.

"You're going to need a bath!" Sister Paisley said sternly as she dove for Rupp. Although quick and agile, the young squirrel's speed was no match for the mousemaid, who had a strong grip on his tail.

"No! No! I don't wanna bath!" he wailed. In turn, Toggle and Switch recieved similar treatments as Friar Siffle reprimanded them.

"I knew it! _I knew it_! I knew somebeast was using my honey! You dibbuns! I'll have your tails!" he threatened, drowning out their screams.

"For stealing honey from the kitchens, you go to bedtime early- All three of you!" Meles's voice boomed. This new punishment only added to the dibbuns' wailings.

"But we didn't do it!" they bawled, "Scones 'n' honey flew outta da sky and hit us!"

"Scones and honey raining out of the sky! Ridiculous!" Meles snorted as she helped Sister Paisley wrestle down the kicking and screaming Rupp. But the dibbuns weren't the only ones screaming.

"Do you know what troubles we go through just to get a drop of honey?" Siffle ranted, waving a wooden spoon in the air, "We suffer honey shortages every winter! I can't believe you dibbuns! Once Sarrow and Melo grew up, I thought I'd never have to deal with such troubles, but you! _Oh you_..."

Mirril grinned at the sight of justice before her. She snorted in an attempt to stifle her giggles and Melo wasn't even bothering to hide the pride in his achievement. His face was set in a triumphant smirk.

"That's me, Melo the Warrior, putting the little villains in their place!" he bragged, paws on his hips, giving a heroic pose similar to Martin the Warrior. Mirril laughed lightly at his antics.

"I'm serious," he insisted, "Some day, the abbey will be in danger and I'll be there to prove that I'm a warrior. I'll prove the entire abbey! And I just can't wait for that day."

"That's a terrible thing to say," Mirril said seriously as she delicately smoothed the wrinkles from her dress, "We shouldn't hope for war. Redwall is a place of peace." Melo shrugged, completely bored and familiar with the statement.

"Oh!" she gasped, "We'd better finish these scones or they'd find out. It's evidence, you know." She grabbed a scone and munched on it noisily.

"I'll help you with that," Melo said, inviting himself to the snack.

"Well, now that you're in a good mood, your appetite's healthy," she said playfully.

"Oh and Mirril, if anyone asks, we didn't see anything," he winked in response.

* * *

**So... what did you think? I hope you found Keetch and Brink's section to be hilarious, since when the idea popped into my head, I almost burst into laughter. I'm also quite proud of the Redwall segment where the dibbuns were framed.**

**If you didn't laugh at all in this chapter, I'm sure you probably think I'm an idiot. Just to let you know, the character development is only temporary. I know that I've been doing a lot with character development lately, but that's to give Brink and Keetch a break. I mean, they can't battle evil every single day of their lives! **

**I completely understand if you guys really feel like you want me to skip over to the action parts, but without some interesting characters or plot, the story wouldn't really be going anywhere. So thank you guys for you patience and understanding. This phase won't last too long. Probably only 2 more chapters at the most until something interesting happens.**

**To explain for the weird chapter name:**

**Imbroglio: a misunderstanding, disagreement, etc., of a complicated or bitter nature, as between persons or nations.**

**I thought that it was a pretty appropriate name for this chapter. I want to know if you guys think that these recent chapters of mine are too long. This chapter is by far the longest with over 4,500 words (Author Notes not included). If any of you guys think that the story would be better off in smaller chapters, I'd like to know. I mean, that would make the storyline easier to follow, right?**

**I mean, I can't tell if the storyline is being too complicated or if the plot is going too fast or just simply plodding along. I can't tell if there are any problems or confusions because I'm the writer; I have a perfect picture of everything in this story. So please, please, _please_, tell me if there are any problems that I can fix.**

**Speaking of characters, I think that I'm having too much of an overload for characters. I have a lot of plans, flashbacks, and character developments for many of the current and future characters. Do you think I'm taking on too many characters already? If you don't understand that much about the characters and you want more info, feel free to ask me for any character bios (they can be a little spoilery sometimes).**

**I hope everyone remembers Aduna. I bet a lot of you thought that I forgot all about her. She was quite popular back in Chapter... 6? Well, I hope you liked seeing the nicer side to Melo. He's really turning out to be a more complicated character than I intended! **

**Anyway, PLEASE REVIEW! Any comments, suggestions, contructive criticsm, etc. would help my writing immensely and would get me to know what my readers truly think and I really want to improve. Even if you don't feel like reviewing today... or ever, thanks anyway for even reading!**

**Congrats to FoxStar24 for getting the answer to the contest right. I decided not to have a deadline for the contest because I really don't care when you give me the answer. For more info about the contest, go to the Author Notes at the end of Chapter 15. Now to the thing you've all been waiting for:**

**_HOW TO GET TO THE DOOMWYTE SPOILERS!!_**

**Go to Wikipedia, Search "Redwall", Scroll down to "External Links", Click on "Redwall Wiki", and Click on "Redwall News". Enjoy the spoilers. I did.**

**Wow, I wrote a bunch for Author Notes. For anyone who actually bothered to read all of it, I'm sorry for putting you through such torture. Until next time, see ya!**


	18. Set Course!

**Alright, I'm sorry for not posting on Friday, as I usually do, but I'm a busy person. If I did, it would've been posted on my 6-month anniversary. I didn't think I'd get this far, considering the fact that I hardly finish any projects that I do purely out of interest. In fact, this story was supposed to have ended by now but I think it'll last for about 40-50 chapters. I think that if I finish this, this would be the first thing I actually finished for fun and not for school.**

**All right, listen, this is partially a filler chapter, and nothing too big really happens. So unless you have nothing better to do, I suggest you skip all parts pertaining to Redwall and just read the sections concerning Brink and Keetch. This filler stuff was a little unavoidable, since I write better when I split chapters up into alternating settings.**

**Speaking of alternating settings, instead of splitting the chapters into 2 different sections, I think there are 6 of them, each one alternating between Redwall and Brink and Keetch. Tell me what you think about this new format. I bet it's a little confusing.**

**Alright, special thanks to MangaHottie740, SilverZeo, DPBCLover, FoxStar24, CinnamonPool, Jarrtail, Finnbarr Galedeep, and Cathycalamitous for their reviews. I bet you're sick of hearing me say things like 'I keep writing because of you guys', but it's true. Thank you so much! The rest of you readers who aren't reviewing should follow their example. Just kidding. :)**

**_WARNING_: This chapter is what I think is the weakest so far. So please excuse the crappiness and stuff. **

* * *

**Set Course!**

* * *

"And then Lord Rathor gave me this," Brink unsheathed the short sword and held it into the light, "And we traveled East and... well, here we are." He finished the long story with a triumphant smile. They all probably envied him for the excitement he's lived through in less than a season.

"Interesting," Log-a-log Urfo said, "But where do you plan to head now?"

"Rathor asked me the same question," Brink answered as he paddled, "And honestly, I can't say I know. I'm a traveler. I go where I want and I leave when I feel like it. I can't say I know where to go."

"Well why don't you go to Redwall?" Finlo suggested.

"Red... wall? Why does that place sound so familiar?" Brink asked, pondering his own question.

_Plink... Plink... Plinkplink..._

A few silver ripples bloomed in the steady river as the shrews looked to the sky. Suddenly, an onslaught of rain followed, thrumming against the steady river as the travelers paddled for the riverbank.

"Well, I expected a little rain, but I didn't count on it being a storm," Urfo shouted, "We should set up some shelter." The logboat veered to the left and towards the riverbank and immediately the shrews got to work, unloading their packs and dumping them on the ground.

"It's a good thing that I insisted on bringing tents," Gulf said said as he shouldered a hefty bundle, "Log-a-log and Gulf are setting up the tent. We'll be done quickly. You and Brink should just get under the shelter."

Keetch nodded a quiet thanks and made his way up to the half-finished tent. Brink, on the other hand, couldn't be bothered and helped with unloading, despite the many polite protests he received. And Keetch, for some odd reason, found himself feeling the familiar sensation of envy tug at his heart.

_"Well Brink... it's nice to know that you're accepted wherever you go..."_

* * *

The halls of Redwall Abbey were empty, as lunch was being served in Cavern Hole. All was quiet except for the faint drumming of rain against the windows. Suddenly the tranquility was disturbed as two figures scurried down the hall, stealthily checking every corner and room for anybeast.

They stopped abruptly at a wooden door and one of the figures pressed her ear against the door. Deciding that the room was empty, she nodded to her companion as she gently pushed the door open, poked her head in, and checked the room once more. Finally convinced that they were safe, she crept in and allowed her accomplice to follow suit before she closed the door as quietly as possible.

"If you ask me, I'd say that my stealth has improved over the seasons," Sarrow whispered as she walked around the neat little room, her eyes roving over the quaint little book-filled shelves and the dainty little tables.

"Ah, here we are." With great care, she lifted the fragile lid of a hot tea kettle that was tucked away into the corner of the room.

"Why can't you just let things go?" Tarka whined in a hushed whisper.

"Shush, Tarka!" Sarrow said as produced a small jar of liquid from her small pack.

"We're gonna get in trouble," he whispered.

"We won't if you keep watch," she replied as she slowly poured the liquid into the tea pot. Tarka groaned as he opened the door a crack and peeked through.

"The coast is clear," he whispered. Sarrow nodded to herself as she took a long metal spoon and stirred the contents of the kettle until she was sure it was thoroughly mixed. Satisfied, she nodded to Tarka, but her air of confidence deteriorated when she saw the otter standing rigid and transfixed at his post. Then she heard faint voices just down the hall.

Fighting the urge to run around in circles in sheer panic, she grabbed Tarka and shoved him under the bed. Once that was taken care of, she jumped behind the floral-patterned armchair in the corner of the room and pulled her fluffy tail back, keeping it out of sight. She could feel her heart drumming, speeding up to a rhythmic crescendo as the voices approached. She screwed her eyes shut, hoping that they would just pass by. And to her relief, they did.

She let gave a long sigh of relief as the resounding pawsteps and voices began to grow softer and more distant. The silence renewed, she crept out of her hiding place and peeked under the bed.

"Tarka, you can come out now."

"Are you sure?"

"They're gone," she answered. Tarka wriggled out from under the bed, his fur ruffled and slightly dusty.

"Why didn't you warn me they were coming?" she scolded as he dusted himself off.

"I was going to tell you," he said in his defense, "I was... I was just worried that if I warned you too loud they would hear you." He stopped as he noticed her roll her eyes with a flourish.

"But that's _really_ what I was thinking!" he insisted.

"Nevermind," she whispered hastily, not quite convinced, "Let's get out of here before Sister Agatha comes in." She rushed to the door and scanned the area before dashing out into the hall with Tarka following close behind her. She smiled triumphantly as she slowed her pace down to walking speed as she approached the stairs.

_"The key is to act natural"_, she reminded herself as she brightened her smile. Out of habit, Tarka began wringing his wrists before the squirrel slapped his hands, reminding him to keep calm.

"You think Sister Agatha will drink it?" he asked in a hushed whisper.

"She should," Sarrow answered, "She sticks to the same schedule every day: boil some tea, eat lunch- or '_luncheon' _as she likes to call it, and come back to her room to finish her meal with some of her herbal tea."

"You... you think she'll taste the dirty soap water?" he questioned.

"Naw! If her special herbal tea brews are as strong as she boasts, she wouldn't-" she cut her sentence short as she realized they were nearing Cavern Hole. She widened her smile and made sure that Tarka was keeping his usual quiet and calm composure.

The large chamber was loud with chatter- especially loud since her parents and half the otter crew were present. Sarrow couldn't help but groan aloud as she stood on the tips of her toes to see past the crowd.

"Why do you otters have to be so tall in the first place?" she complained playfully, "Tarka, do you see my father anywhere?" Tarka stretched his neck, looking side to side before he nodded and pointed ahead.

"Good job Tark!" she beamed as she yanked his wrist forward with her, diving into the boisterous crowd. More than once, Sarrow found her tail in danger of being trampled on- and still yet, she couldn't discern her father from among the other beasts. It was an annoying situation, but a small flash of green in the air caught her attention. She moved toward it and immediately recognized her father performing her favorite trick- juggling apples.

Beaming in her trademark grin, Sarrow made a beeline for the large, slightly rotund squirrel. He was hard to miss, considering his raucous laughter and the fact that he was juggling 5 apples for the dibbuns. Without even looking, Jurano seemed to sense his daughter's presence.

"Sarrow, hon," he said in a strained voice as he concentrated on juggling, "Could you grab that apple on the floor for me?"

"Sure thing," she said brightly as she picked it up and dusted it lightly, "One... two... three..." She tossed the apple to her father, who deftly caught it and brought it into the act.

"Thanks, hon," he said as he continued the daunting task of entertaining the little ones. It wasn't always hard to please them since they were easily impressed and entertained. But Jurano, being the dibbun-loving squirrel that he is, would always do his best for them. He got his reward by hearing them squeal with delight at his antics and by being pestered to "do it again! Do it again!". Finally, bringing his act to a close, he snatched all six apples out of the air one by one haphazardly.

"Heh, I should really work on the big finish," he chuckled to himself as the dibbuns cheered and clapped, each one asking the same question: "Can I try?"

"Naw, it's just too hard right now," Jurano answered with a broad grin and a wink, "... maybe when you're older."

"Then how do you do it?" Rupp piped up.

"You practice, of course!" then after a thought, he added, "_And _you have to eat at least one apple a day. That's what I did when I was a dibbun and look what I can do now!" He jabbed a thumb on his chest as he boasted his juggling prowess.

That last statment took affect on the dibbuns as they stared at him for a moment and dashed off to the kitchens. They didn't ast for cake, pasties, scones (definately not scones after the "Scone incident"), or pudding. Instead, they demanded apples, much to the confusion of Brother Barley and Friar Siffle.

"Hahaha, good thinkin' dad," Sarrow laughed, "Sister Paisley was always complaining about how those scamps wouldn't even touch fruits. All they would take was dessert."

"Yup, you're father's a genius," the squirrel winked before he turned his attention to the otter standing next to her, "Tarka, you little river-wolloper. How're things goin' for ya?" He tussled the fur on Tarka's head roughly until they stuck up in spikes.

"Good, sir," the otter answered as he smoothed the fur down casually. Jurano looked as if he was going to crack another joke before Sarrow tugged at his sleeve, interrupting his thoughts.

"Where's Melo?" she asked. Unlike all the other abbeybeasts, Melo was nowhere to be seen. He couldn't be in so much trouble that he was banned from attending any more small gatherings, could he? Or worse- was he banned from saying goodbye to Sarrow before she left that day?

"That's right," Jurano snapped his fingers to emphasize this realization, "That's who's missing. Well, I can't say I know where he is, but I think your mother knows." At that, Sarrow jumped up on the table. Finding Arroway among the crowd was difficult, but much easier than identifying her father in the crowd, since she was standing right next to Skipper and his daughter, Jolin.

"I found her," Sarrow announced as she peaped off the table, grabbing Tarka's shirt, "Come on!"

Mumbling swift apologies, she and Tarka politely shoved their way through the crowd, occassionally being shoved back themselves before a familiar easy-going voice caught their attention.

"Hey there!" They looked to their right to see an otter lounging in on a bench, his slumping figure sat backwards, back pressed against the table's edge, elbows propped up leisurely, and a toothpick hung out of his mouth. He didn't seem to resemble his father too much, since Skipper Raller was more proper than most otters, but Rosco's behavior was the exact opposite.

"Hey Rosco, how've you been?" Sarrow said, trying to hide the fact that she was in a hurry.

"Oh, I'm fine," he replied casually, "I'm just here 'cause it's raining outside. It always rains in the middle of my outdoor naps." He yawned at this, "Anyway, I can see you two are in a hurry so I'll just let you go now."

"Well it was nice seeing you Rosco," Sarrow waved, "Bye."

"I'll see you later," Tarka said as he followed. It didn't take long for them to reach Arroway, who was chatting away idly with Jolin. Skipper had already left to talk to some other beast- probably Foremole Dirrig, Quimby the Abbey Recorder, or Cellarhog Hogan- actually, it was most likely Hogan.

"Mom, mom," Sarrow interrupted, "Where's Melo?"

"Sarrow, it's not polite to interrupt," her mother reprimanded lightly.

"But where's Melo?" she insisted.

"And ignoring Jolin isn't polite either," Arroway finished.

"Hi Jolin," Sarrow said hurriedly, not seeming the least bit interested, before turning to her mother, "Melo's not grounded still, is he?"

"Actually, he's going to be doing chores for a while," Arroway answered. But seeing her daughter's crestfallen face, she added, "But you'll see him later."

"But that's not fair!" she insisted sulkily.

"I'm sorry, hon," her mother replied with a hint of sternness, "But it's just what his mother said."

"This is all old Sister Agatha's fault," she whined bitterly, crossing her arms over her chest. But despite her disappointment, she still found one reason to smile.

_"Can't wait 'till she drinks up her soap-water tea... hehe..."_

* * *

"Well the storm doesn't seem to be letting up anytime soon," Cadro said as he wrung the water out of his shirt.

"Well it didn't rain for two weeks now, so we should've expected it to pour," Urfo stated.

"Well, I suppose that the others will have to wait," Grenn sighed, resting his chin on two paws, "They must be quite worried about us already."

"Well they know we're in a rough spot of weather, they'll understand," Finlo said as he distributed some bread among them.

"So, this Redwall place," Brink spoke up, "I know I've heard of it somewhere before. I don't recall where, though."

"Naplin mentioned it," Keetch said softly, wishing that Brink could be a little more attentive sometimes.

"Redwall is just as famous as Salamandastron, but not nearly as ancient," Urfo stated knowledgably, "Not only is it famous for its many delicious feasts, but its famous for its hospitality... _and _it's legends. There have been countless vermin that have tried to conquer that magnificent redstone abbey since the very beginning," then he leaned forward and lowered his voice as if he were now talking of something sacred, "Many warriors are born there, and there are many superstitious rumors of a magical weapon and an ancient warrior spirit that guides the abbeydwellers to victory."

"What kind of weapon?" Brink leaned forward eagerly.

"It's a sword that has been passed down for generations. It's not passed down to family members, though. It's passed down to each Champion of Redwall, chosen and approved by the spirit of Martin the Warrior himself... eh... 'chosen ones' you might say. I think it's been said that it's made of a falling star and was forged by Boar the Fighter, a long past badgerlord of Salamandastron," Urfo replied.

_"It seems as if young ones these days were only interested in history if it had to do with tales of warriors, treasure, weapons, vanquishing evil, and anything of the like,"_ the shrew thought to himself.

Keetch's ears twitched. The descriptions of the sword and the warrior somehow sent a chill down his spine. This legendary figure was more than just a myth or simply a part of a long-dead history- he was something more.

"So this place... this... _Redwall_ is a large castle that houses some of the best warriors in all of Mossflower, has powerful weapons, _and_ is filled with ancient treasure that's to be guarded?" Brink asked as he chewed off a chunk of bread.

"Redwall is no castle, it's an _abbey_, Brink," Urfo corrected.

"An abbey?" the otter repeated.

"Aye, an abbey. And the Redwallers a peaceful creatures that believe in goodness to others and they hate all forms of violence and bloodshed," Urfo explained.

"But you said that they were the best warriors!" Brink argued.

"You don't alway have to fight and kill other beasts to be called a warrior- it takes more than that," Urfo said, raising a claw pointedly, "Besides, Redwall will only act on its defense during troubled times. The warriors we speak of only protect Redwall Abbey and their legendary fighting spirit doesn't surface until they need to protect themselves. This doesn't always happen, but every now and then a vermin horde will try to take Redwall for some reason or another. Some are under the false belief that there's treasure to be plundered there, others want the impressive redstone building to themselves, and others want to enslave all the creatures of Mossflower."

"Hm, the rain's not lettin' up," Cadro stated distractedly, "It seems we'll be here for a while."

"We could hear a story, can't we?" Finlo suggested while he cut several slices of shrew cake with a dagger.

"I suppose so," Urfo nodded, "Since we were already discussing it, we'll tell a story of Redwall. But we shrews are always mixed in with their adventures, ye know."

So then Log-a-log cleared his throat and told the story to the interested audience.

"Once, Mossflower used to be under the leadership of a kind and just badger by the name of Boar the Fighter. The creatures of Mossflower were happy and lived in peace until the badgerlord left for Salamandastron. In his absense, a vermin horde led by a ferocious wildcat called Verdauga Greeneyes took over and the woodlanders lived under his oppression. And then along came a warrior mouse with a rusty old sword..."

* * *

The rain had finally let up and many of the Redwallers were outside standing on the damp grass near the entryway. The three squirrels were all ready and packed for the journey ahead of them, but neither were quite anxious to leave. Arroway was saying her good-byes to her old childhood friends, Wayrin and Pallaprin, while Jurano laughed along with Hogan and the otter crew. But neither was so emotional about leaving as Sarrow, as she dealt with her sadness by chattering away.

"And after we're done travelling Mossflower, we'll come visit you for the next season feast," she said, "And we'll stay much longer. Oh... if it wasn't for the winter snows, we would stay for at least a few more weeks... and oh, I'm going to miss you two." She hugged Tarka tearfully.

"And next time we'll be back to our dibbun selves. We'll be the Troublesome Trio again, won't we," the otter said as he hugged her back reassuringly. She sniffed as she relinquished her hold on him and hugged Abbess Linnette, who welcomed the hug openly.

"I'll miss you, you little tree-boundin' rip," the abbess said as she squeezed Sarrow tightly, "And don't forget to come back within a season or I'll have your tail."

"I'll hold you to your word on that," Sarrow said jokingly, "I'll miss you Linny." Then she turned her attention to Melo and hugged him.

"Save your trouble-making days for times when I'm around, okay?" she said, "And we'll wreak havoc here like the good old days."

"Sure thing," the embarrassed mouse said awkwardly, not even bothering to return the hug.

"Alright," she said before whispering in his ear, "And I got back at Sister Agatha for you. Just stay away from tea for a while."

"Huh?" Melo said as Sarrow let go of him and smiled, though this time, she couldn't mask the sadness in her eyes.

"Until next season then," she said as she stepped through the gate and out of Redwall Abbey.

* * *

"... and after waking up from the coma, Martin the Warrior hung up his beautiful sword and forsook the lonely, violent life of a warrior. With a dream for peace and happiness, he and the woodlanders built Redwall Abbey. And though they never lived to see it finished, it had served its purpose, keeping their children and many other woodlanders safe for seasons to come," Urfo finished.

Everybeast clapped politely while Log-a-log gave a mock bow. However, Brink was not one to hold back his excitement.

"That was amazing! Is it all true? And then what happened, tell me more!" he said, "You said that there have been generations of warriors. There are probably so much more to Redwall than that!"

"Easy, easy, Brink," Urfo chuckled at his obvious enthusiasm, "But the rain's already stopped. We should be going now." Brink turned around to see the other shrews preparing to leave.

Then a thought struck him.

"Where is Redwall?" Brink asked suddenly, "I want to see it for myself."

"It's just East of here," Finlo said, "It's just about a two hour's walk away, but unfortunately, our route is continuing Southeast."

"In that case," Brink said politely, offering a paw "This is where we part ways. I appreciate all that you've done for me and your hospitality won't be forgotten, but I want to see Redwall."

"No need for formalities," Urfo said cheerily as he shook his paw and clapped Brink on the back, "But are ye sure there's nothin' we can do to make ye stay?"

"I don't think so," the otter replied, glancing back at Keetch, who kept a respectful distance from everybeast else, "We'll be just fine on our own anyways."

Urfo nodded understandibly, " Ah well. We'll be visiting Redwall soon anyhow, so we'll see you there."

"Thank you," Brink said once more. But then, the shrew leaned in closer and spoke to him in a low voice.

"And just to warn you," he whispered, making a sideways glance at the oblivious snow fox, "Just remember, be careful of your friend."

"Keetch?" Brink replied with a nervous chuckle, "Don't ye worry about Keetch, mate. He's a vermin, sure, but he's a goodbeast all the same."

"Aye," Urfo grunted as he joined his shrews in the log boats, "He seems alright, but just keep a wary eye out for 'im."

"Sure thing, Log-a-log," the otter nodded, "And thank ye for the 'ospitality."

"No need to thank me. Just tell Abbess Linette that I said 'Hello'," Urfo waved as he paddled away, "And if you get lost, there should be signs and just before sunset, they ring a bell. Just follow the sounds and you'll make it there alright."

"Bye!"

"Good luck!"

"Tell Friar Siffle to prepare some plum pudding for us!"

Brink nodded and stood on the bank, waving them off as they chorused their goodbyes. Once they were gone, Keetch decided that he had to talk to Brink about his decision.

"Brink," Keetch said with a serious tone, "We need to talk about this."

"Hm?"

"You didn't even ask me about my opinion when you decided to go to Redwall," he said irritably.

"Well, weren't you the one who followed me all the way here?" Brink retorted, "You don't have to follow me, you know. We're not chained together anymore."

"Listen to me, Brink," Keetch said, "We can't go to Redwall."

"Why can't we?"

"Because... because I've been having dreams lately and-"

"Dreams? That's what your fears are all about? _Dreams_? Keetch, these things are all in your head!" Brink said as he stomped off.

"But listen to me!" Keetch said as he pursued him, "I dreamed of this Martin the Warrior! I dreamed of him, that accursed sword, and that bell. I've been having the same dream every night and each night he comes closer and-"

"It's all just a bunch of fox superstition!" Brink snapped.

"But it's _true_! I swear that it's exactly as I said. It's an omen, I think... a bad omen. We should stay away from there. If Redwall isn't wrought with doom in the future, then the path to that place is! We should stay away from it."

"Didn't you hear what Log-a-log Urfo said? That place is peaceful and safe. What's there to be afraid of?"

"I don't know. We can't always trust what we hear," Keetch replied defensively.

"Well, then what are you saying?!"

"I'm saying that it could be a trap. We don't know what shrews are. They could be miniature rats for all we know! We don't know if we can trust them!"

"They are our allies and have done nothing but help us!" Brink answered sharply.

"Well what if they're just trying to get us to Redwall?" Keetch reasoned, "What if there's something wrong with that place and they want to lead us to our doom?"

"Then why did Naplin mention it? If there was something wrong with that place, why isn't Rathor dealing with it? It's on our map so he does know it exists!" Brink said, feeling his voice getting louder and louder.

"But what if Redwall's recently been conquered and nobeast that far west knows of it yet?"

"Things like these don't happen," the otter insisted with a snort, "And besides, if the shrews truly were that evil, they could've easily slit our throats dozens of times. It's not like we were an equal match for all of them anyway." Keetch, deciding that he can't change the stubbon otter's mind, overtook Brink and stopped in front of him, barring him from his path.

"Listen to me," he said slowly, "Even if you believe me or not, I _know_ that there's something wrong with Redwall. But since I can't stop you, I won't. Instead, I'll be going with you and when you've realized that you were wrong and I was right, I'll be there to save your hide. Got that?"

Brink didn't know that Keetch felt this strongly against going to Redwall. He thought that the fox was just being paranoid based on some silly fears, but now it was different. Keetch's expression was so solemn, and the way he meant what he said word for word almost made Brink consider following his friend's advice. _Almost_.

"All right," he said, calming down, "But I'm telling you, nothing bad will come out of this Redwall place. I promise." Little did he know that in the near future, this oath will prove to be empty.

* * *

Melo and Tarka walked down Redwall's quiet halls. It seemed like a while since it was so quiet.

"I miss her already," Tarka said with a sad smile.

"I do too," the mouse agreed. Although he hated to admit it, Sarrow was almost the exact opposite of him but he couldn't help but think of her as one of his best friends. It was true that sometimes she got him into trouble and that her constant talking sometimes brought him to wit's end. But she was still the squirrel that he grew up- the one he shared memories with.

"Sometimes I wish she wouldn't leave and she'd just stay here. If only her parents weren't the traveling type," Melo said.

"I wish that were the case too," Tarka said sagely, "But if we she was always with us, we wouldn't really treasure the moments we spend with her as much, would we?"

"Now why can't you just act your age?" Melo said as he cuffed him on the head playfully. However, Tarka's carefree mood dissipated when they were nearing Sister Agatha's room. Again, out of habit, he began wringing his wrists.

"Is something wrong?" Melo asked, noticing the change in behavior.

"Nothing, nothing. Nothing's wrong with me," Tarka replied quickly as they passed Sister Agatha's room. He couldn't help but peer in, noticing the shapes of a hare and a badger. It seemed that Sister Agatha wasn't the only victim to the prank.

"Hm," Abbess Linette said after a sip, "Its taste is quite unique, like you said."

"Oh why, of course," Agatha said sweetly, "I have dozens more recipes that I've perfected." She turned her back to pour a cup for Meles. The hare quickly used the time to pour the contents of the cup out the window. Upon seeing this, Meles was convinced that it must truly taste awful for a hare to pass up anything.

"And here's a cup for you, Meles," the old mouse said, offering her a cup of the warm, dark liquid, "Enjoy."

"Thank you," Meles said, trying her best not to grimace.

"Oh, Abbess Linette," Agatha said, noticing the empty cup, "You're done already! I'll pour you another."

"Oh no, no thank you," the abbess said evasively, "I... uh... don't want to trouble you any further. In fact, I think I must leave now."

"Why nonsense! There's nothing like a calming cup of tea during the day!" The mouse snatched the cup away from the poor hare and poured another.

"Here," she said, "It's no bother to me at all. I have enough to last the entire day."

_"Oh no,"_ Linette and Meles groaned inwardly.

* * *

"What's going on?" Melo asked, completely confused by Tarka's odd behavior, "I think Sarrow told me something about Sister Agatha and... tea?"

"Well... we sorta mixed dirty soap water in with her tea," Tarka said hesitantly before switching to a more defensive tone, "But I tried to stop her. And how was _I_ supposed to know that Sister Agatha would be having tea with Abbess Linette and Meles today?!" Melo couldn't help but grin at the thought of Linette and Meles spitting tea all over the decrepit old mouse and her clean, white sheets.

"Hehehe... good old Sarrow!"

Then he stopped in his tracks when he saw little Aduna sitting under the tapestry of Martin the Warrior.

"Now what are you doing?" Melo asked in a kindly manner. Tarka was quite puzzled, considering the fact that sometimes Melo would rant about dibbuns and how everybeast seems to coddle them.

"I'm trying to remember the words to my song," she said sheepishly, "Rupp, Toggle, and Switch are all in the kitchens practicing how to juggle. Friar Siffle isn't happy that all the apples are covered with bruises."

"Well, have fun," Melo smiled as he continued on his way.

"Bye Melo," she piped up in that soft, squeaky little voice of hers. Once she was sure they were gone, she began singing the words again. It was odd, since she didn't remember where she learned the words. All she knew was that a big mouse in shining armor told them to her. She remembered that he looked like Martin, but he was long dead. Everybeast knew that. Nonetheless, she was sure that the mouse looked _exactly_ like Martin.

_"Come, come, wherever you roam,  
Come, come, to Redwall my home.  
_

_There, you find the adventure you seek,  
But beware the road is of danger and strife,  
For the warrior's heart must always be bold and never meek,  
Yes, this is the way of the warrior life._

_When danger befalls you, traveling pair,  
Betrayal and hurt should meet you there.  
But give up not, for Redwall is here.  
_

_Follow the voice of Matthias and Methuselah,  
Follow the songs of the bells"._

* * *

**Alright, a lot of you people who read that "Prophecy", if you could even call it that, are probably thinking "She's poetically inept (if there ever was such a thing)". And your right. Sorry, I just suck at poetry and I'm not going to pretend that I know what I'm doing. Poetry is the bane of my existence in English classes and in Fanfiction writing. ****Anyway, onto less depressing matters than my poetic skills. **

**For those of you who were confused in the beginning and thought that Sarrow and Tarka were assassins out to kill Sister Agatha, I'm sorry if I confused you. But it was dirty soap water. And if Sarrow seemed a little OOC here, well, let's just say that she hates Sister Agatha for always making things hard on Melo.**

**And, I kinda had to introduce Jurano, Rosco, and Jolin for future chapters because they're going to be important soon. Here are some character age references:**

**Jurano: 36-40 (he's old); Rosco (20); Jolin (16)**

**What do you think about the scenes with the dibbuns being tricked into eating apples and then bruising them in attempts to juggle? And what about poor Abbess Linette and Meles being forced to drink crap? I know it's not as funny as the last chapter's hilarities, such as shrews being mistaken for kids and dibbuns being framed and stuff. But you know what, these ideas randomly came to me so I decided to use them.**

**If anyone can guess, the story that Urfo was telling was of Mossflower. Also, I'm sorry that this chapter is such a filler. It was inevitable, really. The plotline wouldn't go smoothly if I didn't add this little chapter into the mix so please be patient and keep reading. Every book (well... almost) has its dull moment. **

**The next chapter WILL be different. I promise. This chapter had a lot of foreshadowing, just to point things out to you readers.**

**Please review. I'd really appreciate any reviews you throw at me so long as their not flames and they're _constructive_. I'm a writer and writers practically live off of their reviews. Also, I really want to improve my writing skills and some encouragement, corrections, and/or ideas would be great!**

**Bye!  
**


	19. Standing at the Crossroad

**Alright guys. Here's the thing, today there's going to be a little _CONTEST _that everyone can be a part of. But WAIT, before you scroll all the way down to see the details, please read the entire chapter first. It's not as long as usual, but it's really important. **

**There's action in this chapter, so everyone please be warned of bloody violence and all that good stuff. You've probably figured out that I won't have any real profanity in any of my chapters or anything "inappropriate". So you never have to worry about those, since I'm not very into stuff like that myself. But you can be sure of violence from time to time. **

**Also, I hope that his chapter redeems my last one.**

**Anyway, special thanks to all who reviewed: JarrTail, MangaHottie740, DPBCLover, CathyCalamitous, FoxStar24, and Awsomewriter123. I wish more readers could be more like them. Well... I have a feeling that I would get A LOT of reviews after this chapter. Just read on and see the contest details and you'd understand why. Hehehehe...**

**Anyway, enough of my mindless babble and back to the story...**

* * *

**Standing at the Crossroad**

* * *

The sky was still darkened by the suspended ominous clouds. A chilling blast of wind buffeted the trees, ripping the leaves from the branches and sweeping them away in a flurry of autumn colors.

"So... you're sure you dreamt of this Martin mouse?" Brink asked. It had taken him a while to finally cool down but he was still very perplexed by Keetch's odd behavior. He knew that vermin were superstitious- particularly foxes, but he always thought of Keetch to be a logical thinker.

"I'm sure," he insisted, "I really meant it. It's not in my head. I had never heard of any mouse like that and yet..." he ran a paw over his ears in contemplation, "I'm not sure about what's going on... or what it means. But I know that something is wrong. I can't see exactly what though. I can't explain the feeling I get whenever I experience these things."

"Hm," Brink said thoughtfully. He didn't quite know what to say about that. But he wasn't quite convinced of these mystical "sights" that Keetch had. They were all of the imagination and nothing more.

"I knew you wouldn't believe me," the fox sighed. Brink looked at Keetch in surprise. He didn't think he could be read that easily.

"Listen Keetch," he said tentatively, "It's not that I don't believe you saw those things, it's-" Then an shout cut into the air.

"HELP US! SOMEBEAST HELP US!"

"Did you hear that?!" Brink exclaimed, "We have to help!" Without waiting for a reply he immediately ran off the path and towards the direction the screams came from.

"Brink! Don't do anything yet! Stop!" Keetch shouted, trying to keep his voice down as much as possible. He didn't want to alert anybeast of their presence. _How could he just run off like that? He doesn't even know what's going on! Reckless! _He ran after the charging otter, running slower and making sure to scan the area ahead for any signs of danger. To his relief, Brink was waiting, watching the scene from behind a bush.

"Please please please please _please_! Don't hurt us. We're just travellers- We have nothing of value. I- I'll give you anything you want- _anything_! Just don't hurt us!" a desperate voice pleaded, "Spare us, _please_!"

Keetch carefully slowed to a stop, kneeling next to Brink behind the bush. Crouching just on top of a hill, they had a good view of what was going on- unfortunately. The sight before him was very disturbing. A pair of elderly rabbits were huddled next to each other, quaking in fear at the five vermin who surrounded them, each one chuckling evilly and brandishing their crude weapons.

"Hurr hurr hurr!" they laughed stupidly.

"We doan' wan' yore stuff," a stoat laughed. From the fact that he was the biggest of them and carried the most weapons, Keetch figured that he was the leader.

"We just wanna gutt ya," the stoat grinned as he raised his cutlass over his head, anticipating the splash of blood with glee. The rabbits shrieked as the husband hugged his wife's crouching body, shielding her as he screwed his eyes shut.

_This is it for them_. Keetch tore his gaze from the grusome scene and stared at the dirt at his footpaws as he heard the piercing scream of agony. Then he heard movement next to him. Brink's paw was on his sword, ready to dash headlong into a brawl if need be. The fox gripped his paw and Brink halted instinctively.

Keetch chanced a glance at the rabbits and instantly regretted it. There was blood everywhere- on the dirt path, on the rusty cutlass, and most of all, on the rabbit's arm where his shoulder was ravaged in a deep, jagged cut. He was gasping for breath in quiet sobs of agony while the small band of vermin laughed cold-heartedly, seeming to enjoy the effects that their sick game had on the wife, who screamed and wailed as she held her husband close to her.

"Too many," Keetch said in a hushed whisper. Brink tightened his grip on the sword as if he hadn't heard a word. But even if he did, he should've known that Keetch was going to say something like that. He clenched his jaws and swallowed nervously, watching the vermin with scathing hatred. His glare, however, flinched when one of the vermin cut the rabbit's ear in half, resulting in more blood-curdling screams.

Brink feinted a lunge towards them but was once again held back as Keetch dug his nails deep into his wrist, keeping him in line. At the moment, there was nothing more Keetch could do to stop him from joining into the massacre and getting himself killed as well. As far as he could see, those rabbits- though terribly unfortunate- were doomed. Unless they wanted a similar fate, they were to avoid confrontation at all costs.

Keetch once again cringed at the sounds of the victims' screams, not daring to look up. For somebeast who had witnessed many instances of suffering in his lifetime, one would assume that he would be used to it. But in this case, things were different. In this predicament, _they_ were the hunted and the fox had no idea how much longer he could control the impulsive otter. Keetch prayed that Brink would get some sense into that thick skull of his and think logically for once. Unfortunately, his luck wouldn't last.

Letting a fierce growl rip from his throat, Brink lunged forward, pulling his sword out of the sheath. Speeding down the hill in a strange combination of stumbling and running, he was almost a blur to Keetch. As for the vermin, they were so preoccupied by their victims that they were completely ignorant of death itself hurdling towards them. Taking advantage of the moment, Brink spurred forward with no hesitation whatsoever, swinging his sword downward diagonally on an unsuspecting weasel.

A fox shrieked as the decapitated head thudded to the floor, eyes staring forward unseeingly. In a chain reaction, the other vermin backed away, wary of their assailant. Eyes dark with pent-up fury, Brink charged at the group, roaring with rage. He brought his sword down in a violent swing that sent shudders up his arm as the lucky stoat blocked it with his cutlass.

The otter staggered two steps back, his arm shooting with pain from the impact of steel. Upon realizing that the only danger that they were facing was a lone otter, the vermin chuckled smugly. However, Brink wouldn't be fazed by their returning air of confidence. Gripping his sword with both paws for more support, Brink leaped forward, battering at the stoat's defenses with all his might.

The stoat, already well-recovered from his surprise, kept his defenses up well. Surely _he_ had more fighting experience than this brash, young otter! But Brink's attacks didn't weaken, nor did his fighting spirit. Brink continued slashing and hacking blindly at the stoat, who blocked it with fair ease. The other vermin didn't know what to do. They simply jumped back, doing anything they could to stay out of the fray.

"It's getting away!" a rat screeched.

Keetch's attention turned to the rabbits. It had seemed as if the male had died slowly and painfully due to heavy bloodloss. But his wife was still very much alive and had only suffered minor wounds- minor compared to her mate's, anyway. Obviously panic-striken and filled with fear, she was fleeing the scene as fast as her legs could carry her. Two vermin, a ferret and a scrawny-looking fox chased after her, hard on her heels. It wasn't like vermin to be merciful enough to let a victim escape, after all.

Keetch had to snap his attention back to Brink's battle when a sharp cry of pain rang out. Brink was staggering back in shock, stopping as he let his side rest on a tree trunk. He took a quick look at his wound to find his left shoulder skewered by an arrow. A rat archer cringed at his failure- that arrow was meant to kill.

"Farg, you idjit!" the stoat cursed, "You couldn't shoot a river even if you were drowning in it! Aim right next time or I'll skin ye alive!" The indecisive rat shrank back at the biting words, raising a shaking arm for his quiver. With his back to him, Keetch saw his golden oppurtunity and raced down the hill, crashing into the archer. Immediately, there were both on the dirt, the rat struggling in his confusion. Clumsily regaining his sense of balance, Keetch sprang to his footpaws, only to be dragged back down by his tail.

Being in a kneeling position and imobilized for a moment, Keetch panicked and jumped forward in vain, only to be brought crashing down on his back. Confused at first, Keetch didn't know what to do but a sudden fear jolted him when off the corner of his eye he saw the rat reaching down for a small dagger in his belt. The fox flailed backwards, hoping to get out of reach, but the rat still held fast.

Almost involuntarily, Keetch brought his footpaw up, crashing it right into the vermin's chin. This slackened the vermin's hold on his tail and Keetch was able to wriggle loose. But his relief was only momentary, as the rat also got to his footpaws, a furious look in his eyes and his chin smeared with blood. Pulling out his dagger, he grinned, showing his sharp, yellowed teeth.

Frozen with panic, Keetch couldn't evade the rat's next attack as the knife came down on him. At the last moment, Keetch squirmed backwards, the dagger imbedding itself in his right thigh. Keetch screamed and writhed in pain as the rat ripped the weapon out of his flesh. And then he raised it above his head for another plunge. But just before the dagger could meet its target, Keetch swatted the rat's paw away, flipping the weapon into the air.

The fox didn't know where the dagger went. All he knew was that he had evaded his death- or at least, he had delayed it. The rat growled with frustration and before he knew it, Keetch could feel his windpipe being crushed. Sitting on his chest, the rat kept a strong hold on his enemy's neck, cackling as his victim struggled in vain.

His head was spinning. Keetch tried to scream for help, but all that came out of his mouth was a strangled cough. He grappled at the rat's arms, desperately trying to dislodge the vice on his throat. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Brink battling the stoat, his arm weakened and bloody. But he was still fighting.

He felt his energy ebbing away. He once more tried to call out to Brink but only a weak gasp escaped his lips. Brink must've noticed this, for he turned around before he brought his weapon up to parry a blow.

"Your fight is with me, riverdog!" the stoat jeered. Although his experience and size had given him a strong advantage, he was still somehow exhausted from the duel. He was also injured in several places, but nowhere vital and nothing serious, unlike his adversary.

Keeping his eyes on the stoat, Brink took a quick step in Keetch's direction, only to be halted once more by the stoat's charge. This time, the sword got past his defenses. Brink grunted in pain as he felt blood oozing out of his arm.

Keetch couldn't see them anymore, as their fight carried them off to some other place. Darkness was closing in on his margins of sight. It was then that Keetch was convinced that it was no use to struggle. Instead, his paws reached out along the ground, trying to find something- _anything_ that could serve as a weapon. A rock, a stick, _anything_.

And then, by sheer chance, he found the perfect weapon. The rat's quiver must've been flung off his back when he was tackled to the ground- and in it were two arrows! But the fox wasn't interested in how stupid the rat was to not notice the quiver lying in the ground. All he could think about was living- surviving even if it was just for a moment longer.

Keetch stretched as far as he could, his paws trying to grip one of the arrows. Finally, he had one grasped firmly in his paws. Hoping that it was pointing the right direction, Keetch shut his eyes and brought the arrow straight into the rat's neck. He felt the rat shudder, and then the paws relaxed before the rat's body fell on top of him. Instantly, Keetch felt himself suck air into his lungs before he started coughing uncontrollably as he shoved the stinking carcass of of him.

All he could hear at the moment was the roaring in his ears as he coughed and retched. It was all a blur to him and amidst the confusion, he couldn't really recall what was going on anymore. Bleary-eyed, he glanced around, his sight a fazed, unfocused blur of colors. And then his hearing returned, the sharp sounds of clashing metal reaching him.

And then he was back to reality. Getting up from his knees, Keetch grabbed the last arrow from the quiver and the bow that was not too far off. Keetch, not having any particularly good skill with any weapon- especially under such stress, hoped that the arrow would meet its mark. Setting the arrow in line with its target, Keetch pulled it back, hearing the wooden arc creak with strain.

And then he let it loose.

_Thunk!_

Keetch cursed his uselessness as the arrow buried itself in the tree trunk next to the stoat, just a foot away. Startled, the stoat wheeled around.

"Farg!" he screeched before Brink bulled into him, his sword spearing the stoat right through his body. Keetch felt a sense of relief and horror wash over him. Relief because the enemy was finally vanquished, and horror because of what happened next.

With a gurgle, the stoat haphazardly thrust his sword forward as well, piercing Brink's side. Although it wasn't too deep, the stoat wouldn't give up unless he could bring his enemy down with him. He ripped his sword sideways from the otter, giving him a jagged wound that splattered the ground with blood. Brink screamed in agony as he stumbled backwards, his paw clasped over the wound as he fell to the ground.

The stoat started to laugh mockingly in a combination of coughs and gurgles as he felt his last breath leave him. Then all was silent except for Brink's groans and suppressed screams. Despite the deep wound in his leg, Keetch immediately ran to his side, kneeling down and inspecting the wounds.

"Brink, Brink," he said desperately, "Listen t'me, alright? Can you hear me?"

"I can hear you just fine," Brink said through clenched teeth, "Ugh... Dammit! ... you're not gonna leave me, are ya?" But before Keetch could answer, he heard rough shouts in the distance. And he could tell that they weren't the voices of woodlanders either. He had hoped that the escaped rabbit had ran fast enough to give them a good chase to stall them, but now, perhaps not. Sensing Keetch's wariness, Brink grasped his paw.

"You're not leavin' me, are you?" he asked, barely a whisper. From Keetch's viewpoint, it sounded somewhat more like a demand than a simple question. The fox didn't answer, contemplating the situation at hand. From the sounds, he could tell that the vermin were closing in. He couldn't tell how fast or how many- only that they were approaching.

Stay? Go? He couldn't decide. Even if he were to move Brink, where would he go? How much longer until he finds help? Would they even be able to move fast enough to avoid the vermin? Would Brink make it? After all, he was in pretty bad shape. Could he leave him here? He would die anyway, right?

_Yes",_ he thought to himself, "_Yes he would. There's no point for me to die with him too. My wounds aren't that bad." _As if reading his thoughts, Brink called his attention.

"Help me," he pleaded, "Keetch, you have to help me." The otter craned his neck to see his wounds, groaning as he noticed the small pool of blood forming at his side.

"Keetch?" he repeated. But Keetch was too busy to answer. He was still contemplating his decision.

_"Is it wrong?" _he wondered to himself, _"Is it wrong to leave right now- abandon him to his doom? Even if he's done for anyway?"_ Gingerly, he took a step backward, shaking his head slowly.

"Keetch?" the note of desperation ringed in Brink's voice. _"He's just dazed from the fight,"_ he told himself, _"That's right. He's not leaving me to die..."_ But try as he might, the otter just couldn't convince himself as the fox continued to back away, faster this time.

Keetch watched Brink's reaction as he slowly came to the terrible realization of what was to happen. The fox just couldn't stand it anymore- not the sounds of the oncoming vermin, the pain in his leg, and most of all, the crestfallen look of anguish on Brink's face. Turning away, Keetch ran down the dirt pat as fast as his injured leg could carry him. He didn't dare look back. No, that would slow him down- or worse, he would change his mind.

He kept his gaze at the road before him, the rest of his vision a blur of autumn colors. Somewhere, probably screaming his last breath, Brink was probably cursing him- cursing his cowardly nature, the fact that he was born, still alive, and most of all, that he'd ever met him.

Then Keetch heard something else besides his own heartbeat and panting.

"Traitor!" a tormented voice yelled, "TRAITOR! _TRAITOOOOR_!" Despite the distance between them, to Keetch, it sounded as if Brink was right there next to him, furious and betrayed. Keetch instantly pushed the thought of the unfortunate otter away, focusing on one thing- his survival.

If only he knew how long this memory would stay with him, infused in his brain. If only he knew how far those words would chase him. If only he knew how long this regret would haunt him in his dreams. If only he knew how that word would burn into his heart like a hot brand... If only he knew.

_... Traitor_

* * *

**_CONTEST INFO!!_**

**This week I'm going to have another contest. It's not going to be another "Guess that Book" contest either (though, if you still want to try, feel free to PM the answer to me; for those of you who don't know what I'm talking about, read chapter 16... I think?). **

**This time, everyone's a winner. You just have to review. I need 13 REVIEWS before Saturday, September 8. If I get those 13 reviews before that, I'll post the next chapter early. I hope this gives you all another incentive to review, right? These 13 reviews are for this chapter ONLY, so don't go back to chapter 1 and start reviewing. And don't write 13 reviews as an Anonymous person either (though, I would be quite flattered if you went through all of that just for my story). **

**I mean, I'll be alright if I get one or two Anonymous reviews. I just don't want a whole bunch of them because for all I know, they could all be from the same person. And oh yes, NO FLAMES! And please make the reviews competent and not a one-word comment.**

**Remember, it's not like I'm going to hold off all chapters until I get 13. I'll post the next chapter next weekend anyway. It's just that now, you guys have a chance to get Chapter 20 _early_. How's that sound? **

**I've even got it done right now and I'll post it the day I get my 13th review for this chapter. Just be happy that I woke up 20 minutes early on school mornings and 2 hours early on my weekends to get it done so fast.**

**As for those of you who are wondering "Why 13?", well, it's because I like round numbers. If I get 13 reviews, then that gives me 105 reviews for the story. Also, I want to break my record of 8 reviews for one chapter. Plus, I don't think you guys can do it. Prove me wrong guys!**

**OK, for those of you who don't care about my ramblings/Author Notes, you can stop reading right now. Contest info ends here. For those of you who actually do care and have time to burn, read on.**

**Alright, now I suppose a bunch of you guys want to yell at me and send me hate mail. I mean, I would. Or maybe you just don't care? Anyway, yes, I know that this whole betrayal thing was kinda shocking, since a lot of you thought that they would be BFFs. To tell you the truth, when I first started the fic, I wanted to have Keetch seriously think about it and be tempted to leave but still save Brink.**

**But obviously, I wanted to make the story tragic later on. Seriously, I think every good story has some betrayal in it (well, not necessarily). So I wanted to add some shock to this story. I bet a lot of you didn't see this coming. Or if you thought it would, you thought Keetch would be on the good side, right? OK, I'm done sounding patronizing. Sorry about that.**

**I hope you liked/hated this chapter... well, at least I hope it evoked feelings here. If you loved the plot twist, yay. If you hated what happened... well, at least you care. **

**Thanks for reading and please review. Any comments, questions, corrections, ideas, constructive criticism, etc. is welcome. I'd like to see my writing improve over time so anything is helpful. And remember, every review counts! **

**Jade TeaLeaf**


	20. All in the Mind

**OK, first of all, I'd like to thank all of those who reviewed: Awsomewriter123, CinnamonPool, MangaHottie740, DPBCLover, SilverZeo, Zodiac Guardian, JarrTail, Zinachu, FoxStar24, and Fallen in Oblivion (who PMed me instead of posting an official review).**

**Thank you guys so much for your reviews. Well, I didn't get 13 reviews like I wanted, and I was going to wait. And then I realized that my story was waaaay down the list because everyone updated all at once right after me. Well, not only that, but also because over Labor Day weekend, I finished 2 chapters and I wanted to get to Chapter 21, which is one I'm really proud of. So, to speed up the process, I posted early despite the fact that we didn't get 13 reviews for last chapter. **

**Thanks again to those who actually reviewed. I really appeciate all of it. I understand that a lot of you were upset about the outcome and are worried about our adventurous duo, but remember, everything is all for a better story. Thank you for sticking to this story for so long, through its ups and downs and all that. You guys are great. :)**

**P.S. Erin Hunter is coming to my town for a book signing! I'm so excited! :D**

* * *

**All in the Mind**

* * *

His leg was still bleeding and it felt as if the dagger was still jammed in his there. It hurt to run, it hurt to move, and it hurt to even breathe. But he couldn't stop- not now, not ever! At least, not until he reaches someplace safe. What was it that Urfo said? Redcastle? Redfort? Redwall? He couldn't remember; his mind drew a blank.

But he knew it was a battlement of some sort. That would definately be more than enough to deal with two rogue vermin! Red-whatever-it-was. But how much longer would he have to keep running? He didn't know how much longer he could keep this up. He felt faint from blood loss and he felt hungry, and thirsty, and just sick.

He couldn't help it- he just _had_ to stop and rest. Keetch slowed to a stop, leaning on a tree as he panted, his lungs burning. Then his thoughts drifted to Brink- his friend he left to die. He cringed at the memory of him. He recalled the rank stench of blood, the roaring in his ears, and Brink's face- the very picture of betrayal. He felt his legs begin to falter beneath him as he fought back that wave of guilt. But he couldn't help it, and before long, tears started welling up in his eyes.

Didn't they go through all sorts of dangers together? Yes, they were at each other's throats at one point, but that was when they didn't know each other. They helped each other escape slavery, kill off the captain, fool swamp creatures, meet the great badgerlord of Salamandastron, they spent days out in the wilderness, oh, all the adventures they lived through!... he paused as he heaved a heavy sigh. Was it all to end this way?

He turned around, staring at the path behind him. He was already quite far from the battle scene and even if he returned for Brink, it was likely that he was already dead. He shook his head and breathed a sw apology for his friend. With his breath caught up, he pushed his weight off the tree and decided to continue before any creature caught up to him.

He didn't know why, but the forest seemed to grow darker and more sinister. The trees were no longer dappled with bursts of red, yellows, and oranges. Instead, the brown, crinkled leaves drooped down from the sparse branches and a chilling wind swept through them, whisking some away.

The forest felt dark, and somewhere in the distance, he heard rumbling thunder. Despite his almost complete winter fur, the fox found himself shivering as he took a tentative step. For some reason, he felt as if he were being watched. He wheeled around, scanning the area around him, his ears pricked for any signs of life. He found none and the forest seemed eerily quiet, its silence thickening the air.

The fact that he didn't find anybeast should've convinced the fox that he was safe. But in this situation, his instincts urged him to think otherwise. Keetch took another step forward, quicker this time. He grunted as the pain shot up from his leg but he brushed the feeling away. There were other things to worry about.

For one thing, he could almost feel eyes watching him, boring into his back. His skin crawled at the very thought but he wasn't going to let the follower know that he was aware of him. Keeping his eyes lowered and his ears swivelling, he walked briskly. Almost like an echo, he heard the faint footsteps of somebeast slowly closing in on him. He peered over his shoulder only to see nothing but the winding dirt path falling behind him.

Then the sky broke into a slight drizzle, crowding the fox's mind with superstition and darkness. Whimpering in fear, the fox forgot his pain and was racing down the path as fast as he possibly could and yet, he could feel the mystery pursuer bearing down on him. He could hear its ragged breath as it chased him tirelessly, its footpaws beating the ground softly.

His imagination strung out multiple thoughts and ideas of its existence. It was likely that they were the vermin, hunting him down and enjoying the fear that their presence brought. Or was it possible that it was that phantom warrior mouse that visited him in his dreams? Or even worse, what if it was Brink haunting and cursing him from the shadows of night's darkness? Or was he possibly going mad? He wasn't going insane was he?

_"No! There's nobeast following me! It's not vermin, it's not a ghostly figure of the past, and it's definately NOT a vengeful spirit! It's not Brink! Dead is dead. He can't hurt me. It can't be- it can't! It's all in my head! It's all in my head! It's all in my head!"_ He chanted his mantra to himself, though it didn't work in convincing him. To him, that imaginary being was just too close and too real.

_BONG! BONG! BONG! BONG! BONG!_

He recognized that sound instantly. They were the powerful sounds of bells from his dreams. Immediately, his thoughts wheeled towards the armored mouse. Warrior mouse or not, he had to get away from the phantasmic beast. He continued running, periodically glancing past his shoulder hoping that the culprit would at least be something real- something _alive_.

At one point, he was scared nearly half to death at a shape in the shadows. It looked all too much like an sea otter to him. He even thought he saw his eyes, smouldering in its sockets. But then he blinked, and the figure was gone.

A large wall came into view just above the canopy of trees. He raced forward, the pain in his leg slowly returning to him. In his fear, he had almost forgotten the injury in his leg and his vision began to swim. He looked down to see that the bleeding still hadn't stopped and blood still continued to ooze out. He had to ignore these now. Any minute now and the follower would catch up to him. He had to keep going... he had to keep going...

* * *

Tarka sighed as he closed the ancient, thick, dusty book. It seemed as if he could never find the answers he was looking for. This was just another piece of the Abbey's history and there was still no indication of that great mystery that filled his mind since he was a child. Hopping off from the tall stool, he delicately placed the book among the many other records on the shelves.

Although not useful, it still held so pieces of Redwall's histories and he had to respect that. From generation to generation, the position of Abbey Recorder had been of great priority- more important than Redwall Chef. If it wasn't for the recorders of the past, who could've possibly remembered the ancient stories of Martin the Warrior, Salamandastron, or Lord Brocktree? Granted, the famous story of Lord Brocktree took place before the construction of Redwall and was just newly added by Abbess Linette, but it was still a wonderful and noble tale nonetheless.

"Have you found it yet?" Quimby, the elderly Abbey recorder asked, adjusting the spectalces resting at the tip of his nose.

"I'm afraid I might never find it," the otter sighed dejectedly. He had been searching for seasons now, and so far, his search had been fruitless.

"Now don't give up now," the hedgehog encouraged as he lifted the candleholder from the table, "You've still got half of the other records to look through. Redwall's full of history."

"Thank you for your time and patience," Tarka said thoughtfully as he left the room, "I'll be back and maybe I'll find it."

"I'm sure you will," the kindly hedgehog smiled, "Goodbye now."

"Goodbye," the otter said as he closed the door behind him, leaving Quimby to his quiet work. He was still quite disappointed with himself. How much longer was he to waste his days chasing after something that many creatures had overlooked? He sighed as he thought about where the questions started plaguing him. Perhaps he wouldn't be bothered by such mysteries if he'd lived a peaceful, innocent life in Redwall when he was a dibbun.

But there was no point thinking of such things. What happened has already gone past and he had to admit, that frightful experience had probably added a lot of insight to his life. He stopped pondering these questions when he neared Cavern Hole. Despite the obsidian appearance of the sky, it really wasn't too late and the abbeybeasts were still feasting on their supper.

For some reason, he just didn't feel like sitting down in the brightly-lit room and chit-chatting with various beasts. For now, he preferred to stay in the quiet dark. Walking past the noisy, mirthful sounds of laughter, Tarka considered the state of things at the moment.

For one who'd read multiple records of Redwall, the otter knew that some danger was probably brewing somewhere, just looming over their heads. He noticed this pattern in all the histories of Redwall's wars: that there would always be a long era of peace just before chaos struck. The vermin would begin to disappear from the areas like a receding wave only to come back at full force later on.

At the moment, Mossflower had for the most part, been uneventful. Much to Melo's annoyance, there was no need for any warriors, and vermin had made themselves scarce. He wondered how different his search would've been if Mossflower was laced with villains as it once had been. Would that change his life's search for answers? Would he be so quick to judge if that were the case?

Most creatures had considered his quest for knowledge and answers to be pointless- especially Melo. But the mouse wouldn't be able to understand. It was something that interested him so greatly that he would occasionally stay at Redwall for a few days at a time in search of answers. Just a season ago, one of the only reassuring evidence was found in old exerpts from the time when a mouse called Bryony was abbess.

It was about an interesting ferret by the name of Veil, son of Swartt Sixclaw, some rogue tyrant that was after Sunflash the Mace. He wasn't interested in Redwall's triumph in the end, though. Instead, he focused on Veil. Now this was somebeast interesting! A vermin living at Redwall! But his hope subsided when he read on and realized the truth of Veil's nature. Abbey Recorders were known to be very truthful with the happenings of Redwall, but Tarka could only hope that some details were exaggerated.

At some point before that, when reading some of the abbey's more recent archives, he had come across another promising story about the Taggerung. It was an interesting story indeed. Who would ever think of an otter being raised by vermin? Of course, he had already known of the story since he was small, but there wasn't much detail about the intricate workings of the Juska Tribe.

The tribe intrigued him slightly but he was mostly interested in the strange father-son relationship between Sawney and Tagg (or Deyna, as he's known in Redwall). It seemed completely baffling for a ferret to adopt an otter into the tribe, even if it was for some tribal, power-hungry reason. In the end, however, he was still disappointed with the lack of any other information besides that.

Tarka wondered if Deyna had any conflicting feelings as he killed those that he grew up with. Granted, they were going to kill him, but he wondered if the otter had any feelings of friendship or closeness to any of them at all. Did he feel any sadness when he discovered that his "guardian", Sawney Rath, met his end? Maybe when he was a dibbun, but he woud never know.

Besides those two leads, he still couldn't find anything that helped him in his search. Perhaps if he kept looking... he still had many other archives to flip through, after all.

His thoughts were interrupted when he noticed that he'd absent-mindedly walked up to the ramparts. Realizing that it was raining slightly, he leaned across the wall, breathing in the mix of refreshing, misty air. Then something caught his eye.

It looked like a creature stumbling towards the abbey in a drunk-like stupor. Whatever it was, Tarka had to alert the gatekeeper.

"Yuro! Yuro!" he yelled. However, nobeast answered. _Honestly, that vole was never there when anybeast needed him the most!_ For all he knew, he could be enjoying himself in Cavern Hole while some creature was dying just at the abbey's gates.

Without bothering to think about what manner of creature it may be, Tarka ran down the stairs, yelling at the top of his voice.

"THERE'S A CREATURE AT THE GATES! THERE'S A CREATURE AT THE GATES! OPEN THE GATES!" Whether they heard him or not, he couldn't afford to stand by while the poor beast suffered. The main gates were too large to open by himself so he exited by the smaller exit on the west side of the abbey.

Rushing out, he nearly slipped on some mud, but he overlooked that. From what he could tell now, the creature was in terrible shape and seemed to be on the verge of passing out. Just as his legs buckled underneath him, Tarka caught him, holding him steady.

"You alright? _Are you alright?_" he asked desperately, but the creature seemed to be delirious.

"It's coming! It's coming!" he cried as he struggled against the gentle grip. Tarka gasped in shock, nearly dropping him. It was a fox!

He was scratched in a few places but the real damage was done in the leg, where a stab wound was. Tarka's throat tightened at the thick stench of blood and swallowed down his need to be sick. He shouldn't be so weak- especially when somebeast depended on him.

"What d'ya want? _What do you want from ME_? I had no choice! _No choice! _Stop following me!" the fox raved on.

"Easy, easy! I'm trying to help you," Tarka said as gently and reassuringly as he could. He looked back at the path the fox came from. It was strange, since there was nobeast there and there was hardly anything scary in Mossflower woods. But whatever this fox was afraid of, he was terrified enough to run from it, a terrible idea for one with a deep leg injury like this one.

The fox suddenly fell silent, as if he had realized that he wasn't under any threat anymore, crumpling up and surrendering to merciful unconciousness. Tarka breathed a sigh of relief as he turned around and saw lanterns cutting across the field. The first to the scene was none other than Meles herself. Lifting the lantern to eye-level, she gasped.

"Tarka, _put it down_!" she ordered, "It's a fox!"

"But he's wounded," the otter replied defensively, "he can't harm anybeast in this state. He needs medical attention _right now_!"

"But he's _diseased_!" she barked with disgust as she used her powerful paw to nudge Tarka backward. It wasn't a shove, but it was strong enough to separate him from the injured fox. Without Tarka's hold to support him, the fox simply slumped to the ground. The otter opened his mouth to protest when he noticed something.

He couldn't see this detail in the darkness, but with the light, he could see that the fox's fur was mostly white. Plus, he was raving mad when he found him. Tarka shivered slightly as he quickly inspected his arms to make sure that they weren't festering with boils. He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw nothing wrong with him. Other abbeybeasts arrived at the scene, muttering about the fox and what they should do.

"Make way, make way, _move_ you bally bounders," Tarka heard Abbess Linette's impatient voice and saw the crowd parting. _Surely Abbess Linnette would listen to reason!_ But then his heart sank a little when he remembered that she used to be from the Long Patrol. It's natural for her to hate vermin. You could almost say that it's in her blood.

"Now what's all this?" she asked with authority. When woodlanders think of an abbess, they usually picture an old, wisened beast with a gentle polite voice, huge heart, and a love for all dibbuns. But Abbess Linette is different. Yes, she was old, somewhat wisened, and she did have a love for woodlanders and dibbuns. But one would never quite know what she thought of vermin. Redwall was known for peace and its hospitality- even to enemies. Would she tarnish its good name?

"Tarka has found a fox," Meles said in a detached manner, "An injured, diseased one at that." Tarka didn't say anything and just stared at the old hare, waiting for her response.

"Get away from him," she said slowly, but with force, "He must have some disease. Remember what happened 10 seasons ago? We can't let history repeat itself." The abbeybeasts murmered amongst each other in agreement, shuffling away gingerly.

"Tarka, get to the infirmary right away," Meles said, "You touched that _thing_."

"But we can't leave him out here," Tarka said, finally finding his voice.

"Yes we can," the hare said firmly before she changed her tone to something more gentle, "I'm sorry lad, I know how you feel about this, but the Abbeybeasts must come first. Plus, vermin haven't quite been kind to us in the past. We can't afford to risk anything. There could be more of them out there. Everybeast, get back to the safety of the abbey."

"Wait a moment," a shaky voice said softly. Old Quimby stepped out of the crowd, holding the lantern forward as he squinted and readjusted his spectacles.

"Hmmm... it's a snowfox from the north, alright!" he said. Again, the abbeybeasts began muttering among one another.

"They had white fur and came from the North and they came to invade Redwall with Gulo the Savage. If you all paid attention to history, you'd understand that," Quimby chided. The creatures seemed to relax slightly at the news and Tarka turned to Linette.

"He's not diseased and he can't harm anybeast. Can we _please_ take him in?" He held his breath as Linette thought it over in a long pause.

"Only if Sister Mirril will take him," the hare replied, "Meles, please take him into the abbey."

"But Lin-" Meles said before she was cut off.

"The abbey stands for peace and hospitality. We have to honor that," the hare said, "In the meantime, I have to get to Skipper. We must alert the otters and start a scouting party. I'll return by sundown tomorrow." Without another word, she ran off to the woods at a fast pace. Meles snorted as she picked the fox up gingerly by the collar. Tarka was relieved. He could consider the fox saved already. Everybeast knew Mirril, she would never let a creature die, not if she could help it.

* * *

"My goodness!" Mirril gasped as Meles dropped her burden on the infirmary bed with disdain.

"He's not diseased, he's just a snow fox," Tarka explained as he readjusted the pillow and moved the fox into a more comfortable position.

"You don't have to treat his wounds if you don't want to," the badger said bluntly. Tarka winced at the thought of Mirril rejecting her role. But then he reminded himself of Mirril's helpful and somewhat over-submissive nature.

"Of course I will," Mirril said as she gathered all the appropriate herbs and turned a page in a medicine book with her free paw.

"Are you sure?" "Thank you so much." Tarka and Meles said in unison.

"Yes, I'm sure," the mousemaid replied curtly as she laid the back of her paw on the fox's forehead, "But I need everybeast to get out of the room. _Please._" Obediently, the abbeybeasts cleared out, some of them grumbling begrudgingly. One of them happened to be Meles, still upset at being overruled.

"Thank you," Tarka reiterated before closing the door behind him. He smiled, proud of himself and his morals. He just saved somebeast!

_"I wonder if he'll thank me,_" he thought to himself as he turned around and nearly bumped into Melo.

"Tarka!"

The otter jumped, startled by the sudden appearance.

"Don't scare me like that!" Tarka scolded. But Melo either pretended not to notice or he didn't hear. Instead, he questions started spilling out of his mouth.

"Who is he? What is he? Where is his wound? Is he really diseased? His fur is white, isn't it? How old is he? What was he doing? Can I see?"

Tarka frowned, annoyed by Melo's relentless questions.

"I _don't_ know," he sighed, "But Mirril's taking care of him, so he's not going to die." He instantly blocked the door when Melo took a step towards it.

"She needs to concentrate," he said firmly. Melo didn't bother to hide his annoyance but shrugged in response. He'll get his first good look at a vermin tomorrow anyway.

* * *

**OK, so I guess this chapter was kind of a filler one. But it got the story to where we want to be. For those of you who are thinking that someone was actually stalking Keetch in the woods, just look right at the Chapter Title. No, it was all in his mind. His guilt was pretty much driving him mad. Cheesy, I know, but I really wanted to show everyone how the guilt was just overwhelming him**

**The last chapter was a shock to you, so I'm really really sorry. And before you decide that the story is too depressing to handle anymore, just remember that it's just a story and things will unravel soon. I was worried at first that a lot of you wouldn't like the story anymore with this new plot twist, but I hope you still continue reading. I really do. **

**I passed a new milestone, though. Over 100 Reviews! I wanna give high fives high fives to those who ever reviewed. :)**

**The next chapter is already done, so it'll be up this weekend. Please review any comments, feedback, questions, suggestions, ideas, etc. I love reading about what you think. If you hate it, please tell me what you hated and why so I can fix it for later chapters. Thank you.**

**Jade TeaLeaf**


	21. The Outcome that Fate has Yielded

**This chapter probably answers some of your numerous questions, I think. I had a lot of fun writing this one. In fact, I almost wrote it all in one go but then my mom interrupted my train of thought and made me go to bed. :(**

**Anyways, this chapter reveals a lot of character depth and stuff like that so I'll leave it up to you guys to figure out what it all means.**

**P.S. From here on out, I'm changing Rosco and Jolin's roles to be the nephew and niece of the Skipper instead of his kids. They're still siblings though. Also, keep in mind that Tarka's about 12 right now. He's not a teenager, unlike Melo and Sarrow.**

**Special thanks to all who reviewed: Awsomewriter123, FoxStar24, SilverZeo, Zinachu, CinnamonPool, MangaHottie740, JarrTail, and DPBCLover. You guys are the best!**

**_AT THE END OF THE AUTHOR NOTES, I HAVE WARRIORS INFO FROM ERIN HUNTER'S BOOK SIGNING_ (yes, I went)**

* * *

**The Outcome that Fate has Yielded**

* * *

The hare hurried down the path as fast as she could. She couldn't afford to waste time with such important news. She wistfully recalled her younger seasons when she was a messanger of the Long Patrol. This speed would be nothing to her back then. She snapped out of her thoughts instantly when she saw a beast just ahead of her.

"Who's there?" she shouted. The figure instantly halted, panting.

"Abbess Linette?"

Recognizing the voice, the hare breathed a sigh of relief before she reminded herself that there were urgent matters at hand.

"Wade, thank goodness you're here. I need to talk to Skipper! It's important!"

"But _I_ need to talk to _you_!" the otter insisted, "There are vermin running loose in Mossflower and somebeast's injured at the holt! I need to alert the abbey that we're coming. They have to be ready to recieve him. When we've got the wound bandaged up, we have to get him to Redwall as soon as possible!"

_"So they've already found out..."_ Linette thought to herself before she addressed Wade, "Listen to me, run there as fast as you can and tell Meles that I'm on my way to the holt. Hurry now!" Wasting no time, the two ran in different directions, desperate to get to their destination.

* * *

Linette came to an abrupt halt near the holt's entrance. In front of her, two otters armed with spears barred her way.

"Halt! Friend or foe?" they voiced the standard greeting.

"It's me, you dunderheads!" Linette practically shouted. She was glad that the otters had taken extra precautions, but they obviously should've been able to recognize her from mere rats, foxes, weasels, and the like.

"Sorry marm," one of them said as he stepped aside, "Couldn't see you in the dark." Rolling her eyes, the hare dashed past them and into the holt's clearing. The holt wasn't anything different from a normal every-day village. It had small wooden huts, a big fire pit, and a small community of otters. But at the moment, there was almost no beast in sight.

Instead, the place was devoid of all its usual carefree life, the windows and doors were shut, the area was bathed in light, and otter guards were standing stock-still, ringing the area. Then she spied a lone otter pacing worriedly in front of one of the huts.

"Jolin!" she waved, catching her attention.

"Abbess Linette!" she said in a small voice, wiping her tears with he sleeve, "Oh, it was awful, _awful_!"

"What? What happened?" the hare panted.

"Uncle Raller and some o' the crew left to go fishing near River Moss. But then they came home early and there was an injured beast with them! He was all bloody and Uncle Raller said vermin did it and that they're here and-"

"Now, now," she said reassuringly, "We're going ta take care of everything, so don't worry your pretty little head over these matters. I just need to talk to the Skipper."

"He's in there," the ottermaid sniffled as she pointed to the hut. Nodding her thanks, the abbess knocked on the door softly, not wanting to break the heavy silence. There were several shuffling sounds inside and a gruff voice answered the door.

"What is it?"

"It's me, Abbess Linette. I need to talk to Skipper." It was quiet for several seconds until the door shuddered open and a weary-looking otter greeted her.

"I'm sorry, Skip can't leave right now. Please come inside." Linette entered, noticing how cluttered and dimly lit the interior was. The walls were lined with assortments of fishhooks and netting and on the opposite wall there were some herbs among some berries and fruits, left on the shelf to dry for the many seasons to come. And then, in the middle of the room, there were four otters, clustered together and staring down at something, muttering in hushed voices.

"Skipper, I think you're aware of the emergency here," she panted. The otters looked up from whatever they were doing, revealing a body lying on a cot. Linette took a tentative step, unsure if she truly wanted to see the figure.

"I know. We found him on the road," Skipper nodded at the body in indication, "And I could say that we taught those vermin a good lesson too! What was he thinking?! Taking on an an entire group by himself!"

"But what other measures did you take against this danger?" she pressed softly as she craned her neck to see the victim.

"You must've bumped into Wade on the way here. We've got guards scattered throughout the area, I've issued scouts, nobeast is allowed to go anywhere alone, and once we're sure he can make the journey, we're getting this one straight to the abbey's infirmary," the otter replied wearily. Linette looked at the figure, and she had to admit, he was in terrible condition.

He was a young sea otter, far too young to even consider fighting a full-grown vermin, let alone an entire group of them. He was frail-looking and it was apparent that he had lost a lot of blood. A clean bandage was wrapped around his waist, yet she could still see some traces of blood seeping through. And at the moment, the otters were hard at work removing the arrow lodged in his shoulder.

Then her eyes traveled down to his left arm, where a manacle gleamed in the soft candle light. She frowned slightly at the thought of the poor beast's pain.

_"Was he a slave trying to escape from his captors? What kinds of suffering did he have to endure in his short life?"_

"So you've noticed that too then?" Skipper sighed. Linette nodded in response, feeling that there was nothing more she had to say.

"We were just going to the river for some fishin', but then we heard somebeast shouting somewhere and when we showed up, he was like that," the otter's eyes hardened, "And then there were these vermin... and bodies... three of them were vermin and the other two were rabbits! Oh, I can't remember their names, but they were a nice couple and they never deserved that sort'a end.

"They were all chopped up and were brutally slaughtered. No doubt that this brave fool tried to jump in and stop them. I'd say that he did quite well, though one got away. And when I get my hands on that-"

"It's no use," another otter said, interrupting the otter from his vow of vengeance, "We have to cut the arrow in half and get him to the abbey immediately. It's his only chance."

"Thank you, Brook," Skipper said, calming down.

"There's one more thing..." the hare began, but then it seemed as if the otter suddenly remembered something.

"They were tracks of a fox," he said abruptly, "He was heading for the abbey. And I'd say, telling from the tracks, he has a leg injury, but I wouldn't consider him harmless."

"We found him near Redwall," Linette answered, "He's being taken care of in the infirmary right as we speak." The otter's eyes flashed and he looked like he was going to say more, perhaps advise her to get rid of the danger permentantly before Brook's voice broke in.

"Skipper, we need you to help carry the stretcher."

"Alright, we need to get to Redwall, as fast as we can," he said as he took his position at the corner, "For his sake."

* * *

All he could remember was somebeast approaching him. And then, darkness.

Keetch slowly opened his eyes, awakened by the sound of somebeast talking. The sight that greeted him was comforting, but confusing at the same time. Somehow, he was lying in a soft, comfortable bed and light was shining through an open window. From his perspective, he could see that the room was empty, though, there must be somebeast on the other side of the door, since he could hear muffled voices.

Slowly, he propped himself up on his elbows before a dull pain shot up from his leg. He gasped in shock and collapsed back into his bed. Right at that moment, the door swung open and a mousemaid appeared at the door.

"Oh, you're up," she said awkwardly as she placed a tray of food on his bedstand, careful to watch his every movement. To her surprise, the fox didn't start spewing obscenities or try to attack her. Instead, he simply put his paw over his eyes and tried to sit up.

"Don't move," she said quickly. Against her better judgment, she delicately pushed his shoulders down, easing him back to a comfortable position. She recoiled shortly after, realizing how close she was to danger. She considered herself lucky that the fox was just too confused to attack her.

"Where am I?" he groaned.

"You're at Redwall Abbey," she said as she stirred some broth slowly, "We're here to help you. Now please, stay in your bed and don't move." The fox seemed happy to oblige but he continued asking questions.

"Who are you? What's goin' on? How did I get here?" he asked.

"You can call me Sister Wayrin," the mouse began, but just then, the door swung open and an otter stomped into the room, accompanied by another otter, a young mouse, an elderly hare, and a badger. The fox normally would've gawked at the sheer size of the badger but the otter was the one that caught his attention. His face was dark and there was a cold look in his eyes that forced Keetch to shrink back as if doing so could cloak his presence.

"Skipper, I thought we discussed that-" Wayrin began, but was cut off by that serious look on the otter's face. Her courage leaving her, she stepped back and focused on mixing the warm broth.

His only defense powerless, Keetch stared back at the otter. It was awkward, for nobeast said a word for a few seconds and it felt as if the towering otter was looking straight through him- right into his very soul.

"So," the otter said slowly, his voice hard, "What do you know about the vermin?"

"What vermin?" the fox asked. And then a wave of memories hit him- the two rabbits, the rat, the gash in Brink's side... leaving him to die... In his confusion, he had forgotten everything that happened until now. In fact, if anybeast mentioned the name "Brink" before this moment, Keetch's mind would've drawn a blank. The fox opened his mouth to speak until the otter grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, hoisting him up to eye-level.

"Don't lie to me," he growled menacingly, "_Tell- me- what- you- know,"_ he demanded, shaking him violently between words. Keetch was speechless and terrified. Here he was, an injured beast who had nothing to do with the vermin he hated, yet he was being shaken around like some rag doll.

"Skipper! Skipper! Please calm down!" A much younger otter appeared in Keetch's view, prying the burly otter's grip from he fox. Then a myriad of voices filled the room, each one different and panicked.

"No fighting in the abbey!"

"Control yourself!"

"Raller! Let him go!"

"Put him down _now_!"

"By the fang! You're gonna kill him, you will!"

And then the world was finally still as Keetch dropped from the hold and plopped back on his bed, panting. His vision was reeliing as he surveyed the chaotic scene about him. The furious, yelling otter was being restrained by the badger and the hare, the young otter and mouse were standing side by side, their expressions the picture of shock. And then there was that mouse, Sister Wayrin, standing on the other side of the bed, her back pressed against the wall with her two tiny paws clasped over her mouth in a frozen gasp.

"Let go! Let me at him! I'll rip his throat out for what he did!" the otter screamed as he struggled violently with the badger, who was making an effort not to harm her friend.

"Get a hold of yourself!" the hare commanded, followed by a resounding slap. There was a moment's silence as all the beasts held their breath. The hare was panting, her right paw lowering to her side while the otter, pressed against the wall by the badger, had his head lowered, facing slightly to his left. Then he shuddered slightly and the badger released her hold on him. He seemed to slump a bit as he leaned against the wall.

"I'm alright, I'm alright," he said as he pressed his palm to his forehead, shaking it as he stared at the ground.

"It's alright, we know how you feel, Skip," the hare said as she clapped a reassuring paw on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry, please excuse me," he muttered as he walked out of the room briskly. Keetch immediately felt the others heave a long sigh. Then the elderly hare cleared her throat, calling the fox's attention to her.

"As you are now aware, there have been vermin sightings near Mossflower. In return for our fair treatment, we expect information, is that _clear_?"

"Yes," Keetch answered meekly, his answer sounding very plain compared to the hare's fancy wording.

"Very good," she said slowly as she took a step forward, "But let me warn you, try to escape or attack, and we'll be forced to take extreme measures, _understood_?"

Keetch nodded vigorously, noting the snarl the badger had on her face.

"Good, then tell me, what do you know of the vermin?" the hare leaned forward so that her face was just inches away from his own. There was no sympathy in her eyes, only a serious, brown color that was void of any emotion.

"I'm... I'm... I'm not one of them," he stammered, leaning backwards, away from the terrible gaze. Her stare did not falter, however, and she decided to ask more questions.

"Oh? If that's the case, then, tell me, what were you doing in the woods? Why were you wounded?" Keetch knew this quesion would surface, it was inevitable. And right now, he wasn't quite sure if they would believe him.

"I was traveling with somebeast," he said softly, lowering his eyes, "And then we saw two rabbits being attacked by a group of vermin. My friend, an otter-"

"An _otter_?" the badger interrupted.

"Yes," Keetch nodded hesitantly, "he was my friend and he risked his life trying to save them. In the end, I was... also pulled into the battle and was wounded," he pointed at his leg, indicating the proof, "Two vermin ran off to chase one rabbit while we fought the others off. We won, but Brink was badly injured on his side. And... and... and I didn't think he would make it..."

"And then?" the hare pressed forward.

"And then..." Keetch nearly told the truth, but paused, reminding himself that the truth wouldn't sound appealing to them, "And then he told me to run and get help... and I ran... but I don't remember anything after that... Only darkness," he finished, the lie tasting bitter in his mouth. Then room was silent once more until the badger decided to continue the interrogation.

"You called him Brink?"

"Yes."

"And you were his friend," the badger stated.

"Yes."

"_Liar!_ I don't believe you!" she growled as she clamped a huge paw on the bed frame.

"But I was," Keetch quailed.

"Meles, please calm down," Wayrin suggested in a soothing voice. Considering the mouse's request, she took a step backwards, her heavy breathing still audible.

"I don't believe you," she said as her hulking figure walked towards the door, "But when he wakes up, he'll tell us the truth. And then I'll rip you apart." Keetch shuddered in response before the realization hit him.

"When he wakes up?" he asked, pondering the possibilities.

"He was found in the woods barely alive," the hare explained.

"He's alive... he's _alive_..." the fox repeated to himself before his gaze snapped up to meet the hare's, desparation in his eyes.

"I must see him! I have to! _Please_!"

"No!" she snapped coldly, "Under no circumstances are you to leave _this_ room. The otter needs all the rest he can get and he doesn't need you to make things worse." At that, she walked out of the room, leaving the remaining occupants wide-eyed. Usually the abbess was full of jokes and humor, but now she seemed like somebeast completely different.

"She's just stressed, Tarka," the young mouse muttered to the worried young otter next to him.

"Everybeast get out," Meles's voice rang, "This fox is a prisoner and shall be treated as such." The abbeydwellers quickly obeyed, evacuating the room quickly and soundlessly.

"Here's your lunch. Supper will be given later," the mouse said hastily before she too, left the room, closing the wooden door behind her.

_Click!_

He recognized the sound of a lock turning. The fox sighed, isolated and left to his misery.

* * *

**Wow, Keetch sure is taking a lot of crap lately. According to some, he deserves it. The last two chapters showed several things about his personality. It's obvious that he cares about Brink, seeing how he actually got into the fight to save him and he was heavily conflicted with the choice he was facing. It also showed how he was brave to an extent, but his cowardice/will to survive overpowered that loyalty. The last chapter focused on how the guilt has been plaguing him. Now, when you feel like you really want to punch him, please remember that he had a conscience about it and he's paying dearly for it now. **

**Well, according to one review by FoxStar24, I think that I am sorta making Redwall look bad. Sure, it's still nice, but not as hospitable as the books describe it. I think it's partly the cynic in me and the fact that I wanted to show how panicked all of Redwall is by this attack. That's why Skipper and Linette are so... mean. I know it was a little harsh, but I think that's how any normal people would react to such violent crimes in a once-peaceful place.**

**And also notice how the chapters are darker. This is going to be a darker story than the real Redwall stuff, just to warn you. I don't know, I think I like dark stories compared to happier ones. **

**I forgot to mention in the last chapter that I embedded some clues about Tarka's personality in there. I don't think it's too subtle, though. Start wondering what he's looking for.**

**Special thanks to Fallen into Oblivion for the idea of woodlanders finding Brink. At first, I was planning on Brink surviving to barely escape and bump into Skipper but then I realized that this was way better.**

**Alright, you know the drill. Please review, since they keep me writing and I would really appreciate any comments, thoughts, constructive criticism, questions, suggestions, ideas, corrections, etc. from you. So please, review. If you don't feel like reviewing, that's OK. Thanks for reading anyway. :D**

**Jade TeaLeaf**

* * *

**The Warriors Series Stuff (spoilerish)**

**As I said, I went to Erin Hunter's book signing today and it was packed. I was like, the only teenager there and the rest of the people were either parents or 10-12 year olds. I was a little embarraced, since I'm almost 17. Here are some things she said:**

**Cinderpelt was her favorite character because she struggled so hard to find her place in the clan, and that she could identify with Cinderpelt's knowledge of her death. You see, Vicky Holmes was very sick once and almost died, and she could relate to Cinderpelt's feelings of death and stuff like that.**

**One kid asked if Firestar dies, and she said he will, but she isn't going to say how or when.**

**Here's the big thing I NEVER knew: Firestar and Scourge were half-brothers. That's right. In Rise of the Scourge, there's a part where Tiny's (Scourge) mom tells him about his father and that he was a ginger tom with a fiery pelt and always liked to stare out at the wilderness. Now that I think about it, I'm not sure if she meant Tiny's dad or Firestar's dad. It's sad to know that the only cat Firestar killed was his own half-brother, and none of them ever knew they were fighting their own kin :(**

**Scourge never believed in Starclan, so he never went to the Place of No Stars.**

**I asked her what was the best advice she had for an aspiring writer and she said "Read, Read, Read, because that's where all your ideas, imagination, and inspiration will come from."**

**That's just about it. There's really nothing else to say except that I was #150 in the signing list and that it was a LONG wait. But she signed two of my books (well, 3, but I gave that one to my cousin because he came so I wouldn't come alone). She signed Eclipse, Forest of Secrets, and my own personal favorite The Darkest Hour (call it my intuition, but she said that that one was her favorite book). :)**

**And that's basically it. I hope there was some info there that interested you.**

**Please Review! Thank you all so much for reading.**

**Jade TeaLeaf**


	22. So It Is Said, So It Shall Be Written

**First thing's first. Thank you to all the people that reviewed the last chapter: Jarrtail, Awsomewriter123, MangaHottie740, Adderstar of Valorclan, DPBCLover, Zinachu, Cinnamonpool, SilverZeo, and Foxstar24. Thank you guys so much for your continuous support. :D**

**Second of all, as you can see, this chapter is very LONG and it took me forever to write and edit. Let me explain why it's so long. This chapter is for the most part, kinda Tarka's diary here where this is all from his Point of View. I wanted to try something a little different and it turned out like this. Please tell me if you like it or not so I know if I should put something like this in another chapter. **

**So here's the thing, only the second half of the italicized stuff is important. The first half is more like a character development/filler kind of thing. So unless you really like Keetch's character and want to know what's going on with him, feel free to read. Other than that, the text in normal font is for the most part important. So, without further delay, read on.**

* * *

**So It Is Said, So It Shall Be Written**

* * *

_Just two nights ago we recieved not one, but two new guests at Redwall. They were in terrible condition and had to be carried through the gates and into the abbey. They also had to be separated because one of them was a vermin and the other was a sea otter. The snow fox came first, hobbling down the slope with a leg injury, ranting about something or another. I suppose I could say that I saved his life, for if it wasn't for me, he certainly would've stayed out there for another night before another beast found him._

_The otter, however, wasn't quite as lucky as the fox. He was injured fighting not one- but six creatures at once and he slayed three of them. I imagine that he must've been quite a warrior in that battle. As it so happens, Skipper and some of the crew were on their way to River Moss to fish, but then they heard him shout and raced over there just in time to save him._

_Skipper won't tell me the details, but he said that the vermin and their bodies were "dealt with". And he also said that the fox was in on the fight too, since they had discovered fox tracks leaving the area and heading for Redwall. We're all pretty convinced that the fox we're saving is a killer._

_Even though the evidence is quite convincing and that a vermin's reputation is never good, I don't think that he's the cold-hearted killer everybeast thinks he is. Just yesterday when he regained consciousness, Skipper, Abbess Linette, Meles, Sister Wayrin, Melo, and I came to his room to discuss his role in the fight. Skipper was so angry, I think he would've killed him if nobeast stepped in._

_But the fox told us that he knew the otter, Brink, and that he was a friend of his and that he was going to Redwall to get help. Nobeast seemed convinced, but I am. I think he's telling the truth. He doesn't quite fit the role of the "vermin" type everbeast talks about. He doesn't curse, threaten, struggle, or even complain when he has to take a bath or eat any of that bitter medicine. He stays silent almost the entire time and doesn't say a word._

_Sister Wayrin says that he is very quite and polite and introduced himself as Keetch, which I don't think is quite a bad vermin name compared to some I've heard of before. In fact, it seems quite alright. Sister Wayrin also said that all he ever really talks about is Brink and asks if he could talk to him. However, I don't think that he'll be able to do that for a while. Although the the otter isn't at risk of dying anymore, he still has yet to regain consciousness. And also, I don't think Skipper would ever let him near anybeast._

_Hopefully with time, Skipper will trust him enough to actually let the two of them converse. Maybe this fox would be one of the few vermin who are actually pure of heart! It's discouraging whenever I voice my hope to Melo, though. He always says that Keetch is just "pulling my tail". Well, he has been wrong before, and right now, I'm going to have to ask Skipper if I can talk to the fox myself._

_Tarka_

* * *

_Skipper has finally agreed to letting me talk to him- only if he can stand guard. Melo's come too, just because he's curious about vermin. Skipper doesn't seem to mind his presence but he made him promise not to interrupt. He says that the less we talk, the faster we can get out. _

_I'm sure that Melo do what he's told, since Skipper is one of the only beasts that Melo would listen to. It's hard to scribble down on this piece of parchment at the moment, since Keetch is staring at me while I write. I can't help it. I want to write everything down just as it is happening so I won't miss a single word or detail. _

_Yes, the progress will be slow, but I will try to do a thorough job with this record in history. I wonder if anybeast generations from now will read this. Nevermind, Melo's getting impatient with this so I might as well begin._

_"Hello," I said, hopefully not sounding strange, "My name is Tarka. And these are Skipper and Melo," I nodded at them in indication, "Is it alright if I talk to you?" He looks at me, not in a threatening way, but with a hint of calm recognition._

_"Oh," he says, "I thought I recognized your voice. You're the one who keeps talking on the other side of the door." I have to admit, I was a little embarraced. it was true that I spent a lot of time compromising with Skipper just outside the room, but I didn't think that I talk that loud._

_"Just a minute," I say slowly as I scribble things down, "I'm trying to write as fast as I can." He doesn't say anything and I feel a bit guilty, making him wait. After I finished, I looked at him to indicate that he may continue. _

_"Can I see your writing?" he asks quietly. _

_"Huh?" I asked, not thinking I was hearing right._

_"I... I've heard of writing, but where I come from, there's no use for such things. I've only seen them once or twice in my lifetime," he explained slowly so I could write it down. He waits for me to finish one word and I take a step towards him with another piece of parchment than the one I'm writing on. But before I could give it to him, Skipper snatches the paper out of my paw and gives it to the fox- not too kindly. He doesn't seem to mind, though. _

_He just looks at them wonderingly, a little bit similar to how a dibbun would stare at a fish in the pond. He's silent some more as he scans through the words and letters, probably noticing how each one is different. I feel a little bit proud, since he probably thinks that my handwriting is a work of art or something like that. Then he looks up from the paper._

_"How long did it take you to learn how to read and write?"_

_"Ummm... I suppose it took me five seasons to be this good," I replied, hoping that I neither sounded boastful nor incompetent. The fox didn't show any signs that I was either and held the parchment up so that Skipper could snatch it back and hand it to me. I suppose it's only natural for him to be over-protective in the presence of an "enemy"._

_Then Keetch cocks his head sideways, staring at me. I lift the parchment higher as I write, hoping that it could hide my face. I notice Skipper lay his paw on the knife on his belt, curling his claws experimentally on the handle, waiting for the fox to make one wrong move. It feels awkward._

_"You seem familiar..." he says slowly._

_"Hm? Ah, yes. I was the one who found you near the abbey gates," I say quietly._

_"... and you were the one who tried to stop him," he finishes, indicating at Skipper, who was standing next to me._

_"Yes," I answer. It's silent for a few moments and I'm wondering if he's going to say something. _

_"You wanted to ask me something?" he asks calmly, leaning forward from his bed._

_"Erm, yes. Can you tell me about yourself?" I ask, sounding slightly awkward._

_"And why does it interest you?" he responds. I shrug. I really don't know how to answer that question. But he tells me anyway._

_"My name is Keetch and I came from the North. They don't call that area up there The Dark North for nothing. It's dark most of the time, but only when it's winter. When it's summer, the land changes from being a frozen wasteland to cool and green. But winters, I feel, are the longest seasons," he stopped. I waited for a moment, hoping he would break the silence until it was apparent that I was the one who was supposed to do that._

_"Could you please continue?"_

_"What more do you want me to say?" _

_"There has to be more to you than what you just told me," I replied, "How about your childhood? Your life, your family, your dreams? How about how you met Brink? How about you tell me of your travels, adventures, slavery..."_

_"So you noticed the band then?" he asked solemnly._

_"Y-yes," I replied, hoping that I wasn't prying. _

_"I'm sorry, but I don't feel like talking about that or anything else about me," he sighed. He didn't seem apologetic or angry. Actually, his tone was more like a matter-of-fact kind of voice._

_"Are you sure? You don't have to talk about that, you can talk about anything you'd like," I said invitingly, almost seeming desparate for any form of communication._

_"I'm sure," he replied tersely. I nodded, a little bit disappointed by his secretive nature, yet I became more curious the more I thought about it. But I supposed I had to respect his privacy. _

_"Alright then," I said, with a respectful nod, "Thank you for your patience. I'm sorry to have disturbed you today. Is it alright if I come again tomorrow?" He seemed slightly puzzled by my gestures of politeness._

_"I'm a prisoner here. I don't seem to have a choice but to listen to you anyway, but thank you for the conversation."_

_"You're not a prisoner here," Melo spoke up. To tell you the truth, I almost forgot he was there. It seemed that he kept his promise of silence quite well up to this point._

_"Prisoners don't recieve food, water, or medicine. And prisoners definately aren't allowed a choice. You don't have to answer the questions- we don't torture like your kind does," Melo said, his voice faltering at the last word. He obviously wasn't thinking about the fox's feelings or his promise to Skipper before he spoke. But Skipper didn't seem to notice anyway. He seemed more eager to get out than anything._

_"Finally! Let's leave!"_

_I waited for Keetch to start arguing or at least cast them angry stares. But he just sat there, as placid as ever and seemed to accept their harsh words. I suppose he's used to it. For that, I'm relieved and saddened at the same time. Relieved because he's taking the insults with a lot of control; and sad because I can't imagine the loneliness he must've felt in the past._

_"Goodbye," I said politely to the fox, who replied likewise. I hope that tomorrow, he will be more willing to answer more questions. Until then, I suppose I'll have to wait._

_Tarka_

* * *

_I'm grateful that Skipper's put a small desk in the room. It'll be so much easier to write now. Melo's come along too, though he isn't as optimistic as last time. He hardly got to say anything at all, and I'm sure that his mind was just bubbling with questions while I was talking. _

_"Good morning," I say cheerfully as I walk in. I notice that Keetch is wearing a habit now. Sister Agatha must've taken his old clothes and burned them. He doesn't seem to be taking well towards the Redwall clothes. But as I remember saying before, he isn't one to complain._

_"Hello," he nodded politely at me as he sat up from his bed._

_"How has your day been?"_

_"Quite uneventful," he replied nonchalantly, but then quickly added, "But I can't complain."_

_"Alright then," I say as I scribble down some more words and try to catch up to the conversation._

_"How is Brink's condition?"_

_"He's on the verge of recovery," I answered. He nodded, seeming a little relieved at the news. I waited for him to say something, but again, it seemed as if he had nothing more to say._

_"We don't have to talk about your past or anything," I suggested, "We can talk about anything you want. Anything at all." I spread my arms apart for an extra affect, hoping that he'll say something interesting next. But I suppose he only answers questions with more questions sometimes._

_"And why are you so interested in my past?" I faltered a bit at the question. I didn't quite want to tell him, since he might also laugh at my attempts of understanding. But it seemed that I had no choice and that he had the right to know._

_"I believe you, you know," I began slowly as I wrote my words down, "I truly do believe that you and Brink are friends and that you have a good heart, despite whatever creature you may be. You're different from the other vermin- set apart. And now I want to know if vermin can be good. And even if they're rare, I want to know that the world isn't separated by such a bold line between good and pure evil. I want to know the truth, and I think you can give that to me." He closed his eyes, as if thinking, weighing down everything he's thought of up to this point. And then he slowly looked up at me, his amber eyes gleaming, almost as if he wanted to tell me something._

_"You just sounded like Ma Krammel," he said simply, as if he were just discussing the weather instead of something important._

_"Huh?"_

_He breathed in, almost sighing at the memory._

_"Alright, I'll tell you, but," he paused, probably to emphasize his point, "I want to tell you alone."_

_I was shocked by his response and I turned to Skipper, who seemed to have understandably grown more aggitated._

_"Nice try fox, but I won't be fooled so easily!" he spat. I suppose he forgot the "proper ettiquite" that Sister Agatha drilled into his head when he was young. I hate that kind of behavior too, but that's beside the point._

_Keetch gulped a little, his calm demeanor a bit fazed. _

_"Then I wouldn't mind it if you tied me up or anything," he offered, "Does that meet your standards of safety?"_

_"Please Skipper?" I cast him a pleading look. Skipper snorted and seemed to want to yell "NO!", but seeing me look so hopeful, I suppose he couldn't help but concede- on two conditions._

_"Fine, but I'll be the one to tie you to a chair and secondly, I'll get out of the room, but Melo has to stay here." I looked at my friend, who instantly perked up at the news. I suppose he got bored with these vows of silence. _

_"Fine." I was a little disappointed. I was hoping that Keetch only wanted to talk to me because he liked me and my cause. Now I see that it was more of a sense of security, since he's terrified of Skipper._

_"Melo, get some rope," Skipper commanded._

_"Aye-aye Skip!" And Melo was gone in a flash. Skipper pulled out a chair, careful not to let his gaze slip from the fox. Pushing the chair up near the center of the room, he pointed at the seat, indicating the fox that he should sit. The fox obeyed, a bit hesitant about being so close to him._

_"Don't try anything," Skipper said, leaning down from behind Keetch, "I'm watching you." I saw Keetch's shoulders square as he shuddered slightly. I suppose he's taken the point quite well._

_Melo comes in with a long rope, beaming with pride. From the look on his face, one would guess that he saved a life and became a great big hero. Skipper took the rope and began tying the fox to the chair. I saw him wince a little as the rope cut tightly into his arm and I immediately felt guilty. He didn't have to do this. He could've been relaxing in his bed instead of going through all of this just for me. It was just so demeaning! _

_Once he's done and felt satisfied, Skipper turns to walk out of the room before he places his dagger in my paw. _

_"I'll be just down the hall and if anything happens, yell. Don't get too close to him and don't let his tricks fool you. Nobeast will blame ye if you need to protect yourself, alright?" then he turns to Melo, "And Melo, you don't have to be quiet anymore. Watch Tarka for me and if that fox gives you any lip, you can yell at him all you want."_

_"Yes sir!," Melo saluted dutifully. Feeling a little more safe, Skipper smiled and finally walked out. Instantly, all sorts of questions were hurled at the poor, unsuspecting fox._

_"So how old are you? How'd you get on a slave ship? How long were you there? Who's stronger, Brink or you? What's Brink like? Did'ya fight anybeast? Did you kill'em too? What's your weapon? Did Brink have a weapon? How about-"_

_"Melo, please!" I say, "I'm trying to write here, so just be quiet while I write down all of your questions!" Grudgingly, I painstakenly recall and write every single question that was asked. Honestly, I liked it better when Melo couldn't talk. There was a lot less time-consuming writing to be concerned with._

_"You don't have to write everything word for word," he muttered. That's more ink I'll have to waste. Now that I think of it, he's right. Now I feel dumb for holding up progressing conversations and being so slow. But I've already started it and I might as well finish. After all, if anybeast suddenly decides to read my records and realizes that I haven't been as detailed throughout, they might've thought I was being lazy!_

_"I'm sorry about that," I say, hoping that it makes things up, "I'm sorry that you have to be in this position. If it were up to me, you wouldn't have to be restrained to a chair."_

_"It's understandable," the fox said with a small, pained grunt, "You're father's right to be wary of me."_

_"Father?!" I nearly dropped my quill here, "He's not my father."_

_"But he obviously has a soft spot for you, doesn't he?" Keetch asked._

_"He's like that for everybeast," I lied. I guess Skipper does treat me a little different- a little more caring and protective- but I'm not his son. In fact, I didn't even consider the fact that we had a father-son relationship until now. I mean, we looked nothing alike, so how else could Keetch make such a conclusion?_

_"I see." Something about the fox's tone tells me that he's not quite convinced._

_"Ahem," I cleared my throat, "I'm sorry, please continue." And so the fox began his story, making sure to be slow so that I could write all of it down._

* * *

_"I know more about Brink than he knows about me. He was born on Seafoam Isle, but in which direction it lies, we don't know. The son of a fisherman, he didn't get any of the adventures and excitement that he dreamed of and ran away from home. But he was later captured by slavedrivers and was forced to waste his days at the oars. He might've met a premature death right there if it wasn't for me._

_"I was a solitary traveler in the North. I was ambushed in my sleep and was forced to work on the ship as either a slavedriver or an oarslave. Of course, I chose to be a slavedriver. But it was all against my will, since I would have rather left that ship behind me. I survived several days as a new recruit but I was terribly seasick and one day, while I was serving watch on the crow's nest, I unwittingly threw up on the captain._

_"I was severely punished and beaten and sent to the slavehold. It just so happens that I was chained to Brink, which worked to my advantage in time. You see, Brink has a strong determination and a drive to overcome whatever obstacles are in his way, no matter how impossible or daunting. In secret, he slowly and carefully cut the bench leg that held the chains. I'm not sure how long he worked on the escape, but it was just enough to buy us our freedom when the time came._

_"Captain Skeel, the captain of The Pillager, accidentally collided with rocks off the coasts. The ship began to sink and everybeast was in panic. Somehow, it's all a blur to me now, we managed to take down one of the vermin, steal his weapon, and hack our way through the bench. We barely escaped with our lives. The other beasts, however, were not quite as fortunate._

_"Although we had escaped slavery, we were still chained together, which proved to be a problem later on. After getting to shore, we met a kind old bank vole called Ma Krammel. We lived there happily for several days. It was like our home. Hmmm... her apple pies and blueberry tarts were the best food I had eaten in my entire lifetime- but that doesn't matter because eventually, vermin appeared right at our doorstep._

_"Brink's brave nature was a disaster for us, since he practically jumped out there and made a fight. Not only did we evade death, but we finally took our revenge on that captain. But the next day, Ma Krammel sent us away to pick berries and when we came back... she was... dead- murdered by vermin," his eyes were wet when he was mentioning this._

_"And we left that place, that one sanctuary. I would've gladly stayed there if she didn't die right there and then. It's funny 'cause," he paused a bit here, "Out of grief, Brink stopped eating and stuff like that. I remember telling him not to punish himself since it wouldn't help nobeast. I should take my own advice right now," he grunted, indicating the tight restraints. Then he continued._

_"But we traveled on and eventually, we wandered into a marsh and was almost eaten by cannibal toads! We managed to escape only by pretending that I had some disease that Brink called "the white fur disease". I suppose you might've been a bit startled to see my fur color."_

_"A little," I replied, "But thanks to history's records, we learned that you were in fact, a snow fox." Keetch nodded and continued with his story._

_"So, afraid that they might become infected as well, they let us go and we ran to Salamandastron. We- I was captured by the Long Patrol, led by Colonel Hollin. And told our story to Lord Rathor- _

_"You met Lord Rathor?!" Melo interrupted, "What was he like? I don't think Meles describes him very well. Did you see Sagewood there? Did he fight any vermin? What were his weapons like? Did he-"_

_"Melo! Stop interrupting! I'm trying to write everything down!" I interrupted hastily. Thankfully, Melo listened- grudgingly. Then I turned to Keetch, "I'm sorry, please continue."_

_"It's no problem, really," he assured me, "In fact, he reminds me of Brink."_

_"Really? What's Brink like?" Now I guess Melo's taking a liking to Keetch. He has definately taken the comparison as a complement._

_"Well," Keetch rolled his eyes to the upper right corner of his vision, reading off the mental list of qualities the otter has, "He's determined, brave, fights for what he believes in, hot-headed, proud, loud-mouthed, impulsive, violent, impatient, easily offended, overly-ambitious, ignorant, and... and did I say loud-mouthed?"_

_"WHAT?!" Melo practically yelled, "I'm NOT like that! Tarka, tell him I'm NOT like that!"_

_And then, despite myself, I started to laugh uncontrollably. He was right, I think that decribes Melo perfectly. Alright, maybe not all of it, but it did sound a bit like him. And Melo's expression- ha! _

_And then I look up and Keetch is actually smiling! I never thought he was going to smile. He always seemed so calm and serious... and sometimes a little sad, but he was smiling!_

_"Yes, I think you two have a lot in common," his voice was slightly amused and even a little teasing. I'm only more convinced that this fox actually knew Brink- not the same way one would know everything about his enemy- but the same way that somebeast would know everything that he was familiar and close with. I ignored Melo's scowling face and nodded in agreement with him._

_"Oh right," he replied nonchalantly, "I suppose you want me to continue..._

_"Convinced that we were telling the truth, Lord Rathor let us stay as guests for about two days, gave us weapons and provisions, and even cut our bonds. Now free to decide our own paths without compromising to one another- well actually, Brink never asked me for my opinions- but that doesn't matter. Anyway, we were going to travel in different paths but halfway down the road, I changed my mind."_

_"And despite my protests, we traveled East. I don't know why he was so intent on East, but-" _

_Now it was my turn to interrupt._

_"But why did you change your mind? And why didn't you want to head East?" He seemed startled by he question. Melo must've noticed the change of mood and glanced at Keetch suspiciously._

_"I don't know," Keetch answered in an even voice, "In the end, I realized that I actually cared about Brink. I suppose you can call it a special bond, since we'd been though a lot of hardships that nobeast could ever understand. Hardships that nobeast could ever connect fully to- at least, not as well as I can connect to Brink. We were practically at each other's throats when we met each other, but as time went, we began to understand and respect each other to the point where we were inseparable._

_"And as for not wanting to head East, l'm not too sure. I just had a feeling, I suppose." I don't know why, but I had a thought, a feeling, right then and there that Keetch was hiding something. Hiding something important to him- a dark secret. But I can't pry. I can't just interrupt him again. It'd be too rude. And besides, my scribbling about this nonsense is taking up his time. He waits for me to finish and continues._

_"And so we travel and nothing happened for several days until we met Log-a-log Urfo along the way. Now Brink, being ignorant as he is, actually thought that the shrews were mice children! You should've seen their faces!" I laughed inwardly as I pictured their proud faces. Now that would be something they would take offense to! I cast a quick glance at Melo, who was trying to keep a straight face, but the corners of his mouth kept twitching upwards._

_"Well, it didn't matter anyways, not after we explained ourselves. And they gave us a ride in their logboats. And when it rained, we sat under a shelter and they told us all about Redwall. Brink, impressed by the stories of valiant heroes and powerful battles, was convinced about coming here. And so, we left the shrew's company, only to be caught in a fight." Keetch's reminiscent tone ended here and he shivered a little, recalling that terrible battle._

_"There were five vermin... attacking this couple of rabbits. And Brink, being as brave- and foolish- as he is, rushed in against all my warnings of him to stop. And he killed one instantly and fought agains the leader. Two vermin avoided the fight and ran to capture the rabbit who was running away while the other, a rat, shot Brink in the shoulder with an arrow._

_"And then I rushed in and attacked the rat since if he shot Brink one more time, he would be done for. I was injured and almost got myself killed, but I managed to save myself by shoving an arrow into the rat's throat." I shuddered at the grisly scene playing in my head but it seemed that it didn't faze Melo one bit._

_"And then Brink killed the stoat, but not without getting injured himself. The stoat gave him a nasty wound and before I knew it, he was on the ground. I rushed to his side and... and then I heard the other two vermin coming. I was so scared... and Brink asked me- begged me- to help him. But... but... I'm such a coward..._

_"And I betrayed him!" the words hit me like a slap on the back of my head, "I left him to die! I... I ran away, abandoning him to his fate... leaving him to die..." He finished those words with a croak._

_"You what?" Melo voiced, more out of shock than anger. Up until now, even he was probably believing in this friendship of their's too. It's quiet and nobeast sad anything. The fox only seemed relieved. Perhaps he said those words so quickly and forcefully because he didn't want to change his mind about confessing. He probably didn't want to live with the regret burning inside of him any longer._

_"I betrayed him," he repeated softly, his head hanging down in despair. And when he looked up, I saw some tears glistening in those sharp amber eyes of his, "But that's why I have to see him. To apologize, to beg for his forgiveness and swearnever ever to do anything to hurt him ever again. I have to be there for him..." And I saw a tear drip from the tip of his nose._

_I nodded. His story, his confession, everything convinced me._

_"I'll get you to him," I promised. He looked at me, brimming with hope as I continued._

_"... I swear that you'll visit him when he regains consciousness. I swear it on my parent's graves." I finished the sentence with a note of finality. Melo looked surprised. Of course, I've never sworn on anything before- nothing serious, anyway. And never on something as serious and sacred to me as my parents!_

_"Thank you Tarka," he said somberly as he took a deep, cleansing breath and looked up, all traces of sadness gone. That insecure, miserable Keetch I was just introduced to was now safely tucked away behind a mask of calm, "But I'm afraid that's all there is to it. No more."_

_"Thank you for your time and patience," I reply professionally, "I'll fetch Skipper at once and you'll be untied." I walked out of the room, and called for Skipper, who was just down the hall talking to Sister Wayrin._

_"Skipper!" I called. He quickly said something to Sister Wayrin before he made his way back to the room._

_"Did he give you any trouble?"_

_"No," I insisted, "Everthing went fine."_

_"Good," he replied, "I'll take it from here. You and Melo go to Cavern Hole for lunch." I didn't realize that we spent so much time there. And I didn't realize that I was so hungry up until this point._

_"Aye-aye Skipper!" Melo gave another one of his salutes and we walked down to Cavern Hole, the "interrogation" still weighing down in our minds._

_"So when are you going to tell Skipper about your oath?" he asked quietly._

_"Later," I replied, slightly regretful about it. I wasn't sure if I could keep my word after all. But Melo will definately support me, and if he does, maybe Mirril will too. But at the moment, she's got her paws full with taking care of Brink. I hope that he heals fast. And I hope that he and Keetch could make things right again. Come to think of it, I know that it's terrible, but nobeast can be sure that they would do the exact same thing that Keetch did. We can all deny it, but we never truly know ourselves until- heaven forbids- we are in the same situation._

_I'm glad I got to talk to Keetch today. I've finally found just what I've been looking for all these seasons. _

_Probably Future Recorder of Redwall Abbey,  
Tarka_

* * *

Slumped over the bench table with half a cup of wine in paw, Rosco woke up to the sound of footpaws stomping on the redstone floor.

"Ugh..." clamping a paw over his head, he tried to keep his vision still, but to him, the world was spinning out of control, making doubles and triples of everything. The footsteps only seemed to escalate and he winced at every sound. _Why does everything have to be so loud?!_

"Rosco," a voice boomed, "Rosco, you alright there mate?"

"Perfectlypeachy. How's 'boutthe otter o'erthar?," the otter slurred nonsensically as he lifted his gaze from the floor to the speaker's face. Hogan the Cellarhog sighed at the state Rosco was in.

"Listen mate, you're not like this. You usually drink responsibly," he said as he snatched the cup from Rosco's paws, "And I know that you're worried about the sea otter back there. You and the others were standing right outside the infirmary waiting for him to come to. But listen, this isn't healthy- and Skipper would throw a fit if he found out about this!"

"Sorry Hogan, I go' carrie'way," Rosco hiccuped, "An'news?"

"He'll pull through," Hogan smiled, "And that sweet l'il sister of yours is helping him through. She's been staying by his side and helping Sister Mirril ever since he first arrived here, bless her 'eart."

"You sure you're talkin' about Jolin?" Rosco laughed jokingly as he clapped the hedghog on the back, recoiling his arm as the quills pricked him.

"OWCH!" Hogan couldn't help but chuckle at Rosco's antics. Now the otter was surely awake, waving his arm in the air like a mad beast. Just then, Wade burst into the room.

"Great news! He's awake!" he shouted. They didn't even get a chance to respond with a "How is he?" or "When?" before the otter sped past, stopping to announce the good news to every room in Redwall whether a beast was in there or not.

"Let's go see," Hogan said as his arm supported the drunk otter.

"I'm fine," he grunted as he pushed himself off of the hedgehog.

"Suit yourself," Hogan shrugged, "I'll check up on him later, but for now, I've got to check on the cordial. A good recovery calls for a celebration!"

"_Lots_ and _lots_ of cordial!" Rosco hiccuped as he teetered out of the room.

* * *

Getting down the steps was risky business for Rosco. Nearly three times did he trip over his footpaws, only to be lucky enough to catch the railing. But in the end, the otter arrived at his destination without a scratch.

Standing in front of the door, he corrected his slumping posture and knocked the door gingerly. Rosco had high hopes that his uncle would be in such a good mood, he wouldn't notice his odd behavior.

"Come in!" Linette's voice chimed from the other side of the door.

Taking a deep breath and putting a charming grin on his face, Rosco nudged the door open noiselessly.

The room was silent except for hushed murmerings and the patient's soft breathing- quiet compared to the labored gasping that worried everybeast. Even though he wasn't awake, he was barely conscious, incoherently and randomly mumbling as his eyes stared at the ceiling.

"He's just coming to," Skipper said reassuringly, "He's alright."

"Oh, good," Rosco said with a relieved smile. _For a second there, I thought..._

His mind skipped the thought as he looked over the sunlit room. Standing next to Skipper were Abbess Linette and Meles. Sister Mirril stood next to her patient, fretting over his temperature. And as for Jolin, she was sitting on a chair next to the bed- clasping his paws in her own.

Rosco felt his mind snap. Well, it certainly seemed as if his baby sister was growing up.

"Rosco," Skipper's suspicious voice interrupted his thoughts, "Have you been drinking?"

"Erm, ah..." Rosco squirmed for an answer before he was saved by Tarka's arrival.

"Skipper, I just heard the good news." It didn't sound like he was too thrilled- seeming more nervous than anything. Skipper seemed to sense this as he kept silent, allowing Tarka to continue.

"And I... I want to ask you for another favor..."

* * *

**So what did you think about this chapter? It's a little more fillerish than many of you would have liked, I suppose. But I had fun writing it, since it seriously did feel like writing a diary. Things should start picking up by the next chapter, promise. **

**This chapter did reveal a bit about Tarka and his personality, since I have interesting plans for his character. **

**On a side note, I have written another story that I've just started. It's called "Destiny at a Different Angle". It's from Warriors Series, so if you haven't finished the second series, I don't think you'll quite understand. But I guess you'll get it pretty well if you read the first series. I'll be posting chapters of them around the same time, so Chapter 2 should be up just about now. Please read it and review. **

**Also, please REVIEW this story. If you didn't like the new style I just did, please tell me so I don't make you mad by writing another chapter like this one. Any comments, questions, suggestions, ideas, corrections, etc. is great for me. Just give me some feedback here. Thanks for reading, and the next chapter should be up by next weekend.**


	23. Endlessness

**This chapter is a little shorter than what I'm used to, but I guess it's a good way to balance things out, since I had an incredibly long chapter last time. A lot happens in this chapter so read it all and enjoy. **

**Just a friendly reminder, I've started a new fanfiction called "Destiny at a Different Angle". It's a Warriors fanfiction, so if you haven't been updated with it, don't read it or else you'll be bombarded with spoilers (not now, but in future chapters). And when I say updated, I mean, you've finished the end of The New Prophecy.**

**Special thanks to the people who've reviewed the last chapter (even though it was painfully long): CinnamonPool, Jarrtail, Awsomewriter123, FoxStar24, SilverZeo, Zinachu, MangaHottie740, and Foeseeker.**

**Also, on another added note, I found out that Brian Jacques is visiting my city for his tour in October. YESSSSSSSS! :D So go check on Redwall Wiki (that's where I saw that) and see if you're city's one of them.**

**So without further ado, let the reading begin.**

* * *

**Endlessness**

* * *

Not since he had left the North did Keetch think that he would see a place like this. It was different from the cold, graying, barren walls he was used to. He was impressed by the solid pillars, domed ceilings, beautiful garden, and most of all, he marveled at The Tapestry of Martin the Warrior. He stopped for a while to get a better look at it. It was amazing how detailed the masterpiece was- the mouse looked as if he were fully capable of stepping out of his world of cloth and into this one.

"Keep moving," Skipper called to him, his paw straying to his dagger. Keetch instantly obeyed, his head bowed.

In his awe, he almost forgot the fact that he was under close guard. He was surrounded on all four sides by full grown otters, with Skipper just in front of him. He didn't quite like the otter, but he was just very protective. And he certainly wasn't a bad sort, since he was being quite lenient in letting Keetch visit his old friend. But then again, he practically owed it all to Tarka, being that he wasn't afraid to constantly pester the big otter just for him- a vermin.

The halls echoed with the sound of footsteps as they walked down the halls, their faces looking serious and slightly grim. Some abbeybeasts peeked outside to see the fox and others stayed in their rooms, pretending he didn't exist.

At one point, Keetch thought he heard small, childish voices from behind a pair of large double-doors.

"But I wanna see him!"

"I want white fur! It looks pretty!"

"But why can't we see?"

He slowed down slightly, curious to hear the voices before a paw pushed him forward from behind him. He was grateful that it wasn't a rude shove or anything, just a gentle, guiding push.

"Just keep walkin'. You don't want Skipper to get into one of his moods," the otter whispered. Keetch swallowed dryly at the harrowing memory. No, he definately did not want that again. Finally, Skipper turned left and opened a door.

"Now don't try anything," he muttered to Keetch as he let him pass. Keetch merely nodded as he stepped into the room. There were rows of beds, but only one was occupied while several other beasts filled the room. He could already identify Abbess Linette, Meles, Sister Wayrin, Melo, and Tarka. Besides them, there were only two other beasts he was unfamiliar with: a pretty young mousemaid and an equally beautiful ottermaid.

They watched in awkward silence as Keetch dumbly stood at the entrance, wondering what to do next. The figure in the bed stirred slightly, as if it was somehow aware of a new presence in the room.

"Keetch," Brink called faintly.

"Y-yes?"

"Come closer," the otter whispered. Keetch inched closer, up until he was next to the bed frame. From what he could see, Brink was in much better condition than when he had last seen him. Although looking very frail, he seemed quite healthy and on the verge of recovery.

"Brink, there's something I have to tell you... I'm sorry... so, _so _sorry... I swear, I would never do anything to hurt you ever again..." the fox murmered. He was careful to rehearse what he was going to say in his head, though he could feel the words slipping from his memory.

"I know," Brink answered in a quiet voice, "Lean closer. I'm losing my voice." Keetch instantly felt his heart lift. All this time, the guilt had been tugging at his soul, and now, he was going to be forgiven? And everything was going to be the way it used to be? Well, probably not, but everything heals with time. Keetch leaned closer, eager to hear any words of solace from the otter.

_Whap!_

Keetch instantly felt the painful impact of a fist against his jaw. There was a shriek and several panicked shouts as he stumbled backward in surprise, not quite sure of what happened. Only when Brink started speaking did Keetch finally understand.

"That's what you get, you damned traitor!" he yelled as he sat up from his bed, wincing at the pain. Instantly, everybeast had surrounded him, trying in vain to calm him down. As he clasped a paw to his jaw, Keetch felt a _thunk!_ to his head. He looked back to see a wooden spoon flipping into the air.

He was lucky it was only a harmless spoon, for the next thing that Brink got ahold of was a porcelain teacup. Keetch scrambled to his feet and scutted out the door, followed by a resounding _crash!_.

"Stop it! Stop it!"

"It's okay!"

"Easy, easy..."

The voices declined as Keetch raced through the halls aimlessly.

_"How foolish! How stupid- thinking that he would forgive me like that! Nobeast in their right mind would ever do such a thing... not for me. Not for me, a useless coward of a fox! Not for me..."_

His eyes stung with tears as he sped around a corner, nearly bumping into some abbeybeasts in the process. If it wasn't for their shouts of surprise, he probably wouldn't have even noticed them anyway. To him, nothing mattered anymore. The pain to his jaw had dullened to a slight aching sensation now, but it wasn't the only wound he was suffering.

He paused at Cavern Hole to glare at the image of Martin. He scowled at the noble and kind face, knowing full well that the warrior mouse was not as he seemed.

_"You decieved me,"_ Keetch's glare seemed to say, _"The shrews said this was a place of peace and harmony! You sent me those dreams, not to warn me, but to confuse me! I knew we shouldn't have come here, but you had to go meddling in my dreams! It's all your fault! And now I have nothing anymore! Nothing! Are you happy now? Happy that I'm miserable and all alone? Now I see that you're only blood-thirsty and full of hatred for me... a fox- a vermin!"_

At that mental statement, he sped past and out to the abbey gardens. He didn't know if any of the abbeybeasts were looking for him and it didn't matter. To him, they were probably finally convinced that he was virtually harmless and lacked any backbone to do anything risky. Keetch sighed as he leaned against a tall pear tree, happy to be somewhere quiet where he could think more depressing thoughts.

Sad to say, the beautiful, tranquil scenery of trees and the pond did little to soothe the fox. It seemed as though the entire abbey was now trying its best to make sure that he and his feelings were out of place. He felt frustration begin to well up within him.

_"Why do all these woodlanders get to have all of this to themselves? What did they ever do to deserve it? What about me? If I was born a goodbeast, it would make a big difference, wouldn't it? I can't help the way I'm born... I can't help what I am..."_

"Um... you're in my sun." Keetch turned his head to see an otter behind him, sunning himself under the tree. Even at the presence of vermin, he seemed so relax and carefree, his body stretched out on the grass with his head resting on both paws.

"Sorry," the startled fox mumbled as he shifted to the side, his anger disippating.

"Just a little more," the otter replied, cracking an eyelid open. It was then that Keetch realized that up until this point, the otter didn't know who he was talking to. Instantly, the otter sat up, alarmed at the sight. He expected the fox to run or attack him, or _something_, but he just stood there, staring at him.

"Erm... you're the... uh..." the otter began, nervously twisting the toothpick in his mouth. But Keetch stalked off, not interested to delve into any conversations. Far from it!

"Hold on a second," the otter called out as he got to his footpaws. Almost out of instinctinve obedience, Keetch did as he was told.

"Are you lost?"

"A little," the fox sighed wearily.

"I thought you were supposed to be visiting Brink- at least that's what Tarka said."

"Well, things really didn't happen the way I'd hoped."

"Ah... well," Rosco tried to twist out of the awkward situation with some reassuring words, "Well, perhaps it would take time to fix that. There are always times to redeem yourself."

"I doubt that Brink is going to be in any life-or-death situation anytime soon," the fox replied tersely.

"No, but you can alway prove yourself through other ways," Keetch gave him a glance that urged him to continue, "I don't know that much, but I think that he's only angry right now. Give it time, and I'm sure he'll come around."

"I'm not so sure about that... I'm a fox after all. There's no way he'll like me again..."

"Now don't sell yourself short," the otter said as he put a reassuring paw on the fox's shoulder. At first, Keetch tensed up as if in anticipation for a strike, but relaxed when he realized that no harm was coming to him.

"From what Tarka tells me, you're different from most vermin. You cared enough about Brink to fight for him. I don't know, but maybe if I were in your place, I could've done the same exact thing. I don't know, and nobeast can ever be sure of themselves or any other beast," Rosco finished. But these comforting words might as well could have fallen on deaf ears, for they didn't effect Keetch in any way at all.

"I'm going back inside," he muttered dejectedly as he walked back towards the entrance. Rosco opened his mouth to stop him, but thought otherwise. Sometimes it was just better to be alone to think things through for yourself. And maybe, if Keetch thought about it some more, he would come up with an effective solution to his problems.

* * *

"Thank you for your hospitality," Keetch said in a clear and firm voice.

"It's only Redwall's duty to aide travelers," Abbess Linette replied humbly, "And I apologize for the harsh treatment. You really didn't deserve that." Neither of them could deny that the farewell was a little awkward.

"Are you sure you want to leave so soon?" Wayrin piped up, "It will be a cold season. You're more than welcome to stay."

"No, no," Keetch mumbled, "I'll be fine by myself." For the past 10 minutes since he'd announced his abrupt departure, Tarka and Sister Wayrin had been trying to persuade him to stay. He was grateful for their kind consideration, but he couldn't bear staying any longer, burdening everybeast by his presence. All he wanted to do now was leave this place behind him.

"Then... are you sure you don't want me to get Brink for you?" Tarka asked quietly, knowing that Keetch would remain stubborn with his answer.

"No," Keetch replied dejectedly, turning his gaze somewhere where he couldn't see the otter's disappointed look, "He's better off just forgetting that I ever existed."

"Then... then... then, here, take this with you," Keetch snapped his sight back to Tarka, who was holding up a small bundle in his paws, "... so you won't go cold or hungry."

"Of course," the fox replied dryly as he raised a paw to take it, but thought better of it, letting his arm flop uselessly to his side, "I can't. I'm sorry, but I can't take more from you than I already have. Goodbye."

"But I..." Tarka croaked, feeling tears welling up in his eyes. But the fox was already disappearing down the worn-out path- probably never to be seen again.

* * *

"Stupid crutch," Brink growled as he tried to move faster.

"Not so fast," Sister Mirril said in her best scolding voice, which really wasn't very effective.

"Easy, there now," Skipper said as he walked beside him.

"But I don't think I need them, sir," he said as he lifted the crutch off the ground, "See? I can stand without it just fine. I-" He took a small half-step backwards, forcing him to lean against the wall. He didn't think that he was _that_ weak.

"Well, there's no shame in needing these. They're just for a while," Skipper said encouragingly, "Your sides are still quite weak from your injuries, so you'll need the crutches to support them."

"I think you're doing a great job, Brink. I think you'll be better in no time," Jolin chimed in. He didn't quite seem to hear her, though. He was far too busy grumbling as he fumbled around with the troublesome crutch.

Groaning Brink leaned against it, his pride slightly wounded. He took a few more confident steps, trying to use it as little as possible. But his introduction to walking was cut short by Tarka's arrival. He looked miserable, and his eyes were puffy and red- tell-tale signs that he'd been crying.

"So he's left then," Skipper said. It was more like a statement rather than a question. Sniffling, Tarka nodded in response.

"Who's left?" Brink asked, a hint of surprise in his voice.

"Keetch did..." Tarka replied, "... he didn't want to tell you."

Brink was half-hoping that the fox hadn't left. He didn't really think that he would go anywhere without him- but then again, he didn't expect him to betray him either. His eyes looked down-cast and sullen before he recalled how he was abandoned, and his face instantly contorted to something resembling a resentful indifference.

"Fine then, let him run away from his problems again- like he always does," he muttered as he looked out the window, as if he could spot the fox from there.

**The End**

* * *

_**JUST KIDDING!!**_

**Sorry, I just _had_ to do that. I hope I didn't really scare anyone too bad. This isn't the end (that was a mean joke, I know). Sorry guys.**

**Anyways, I doubt we'll be having any fillers any time soon from here on out, so be prepared for a pickup in suspense and the main villain(s) will be revealed soon (finally). **

**And as for Keetch, whether you hate him, love him, forgive him, used to like him, etc., I kind of had trouble making this chapter happen. His life is just spinning out of control and I want to tell you, I'm not trying to do this on purpose (OK, maybe I am), but this is all for his own good (in a weird, ironic, twisted sort of way). You know what, just keep reading and you'll get it. **

**I'm not a major fan of angst and stuff like that, but I thought that if there was going to be any angsty moment in this story, this was it. This chapter just reflected off of Keetch's self-loathing and hatred for what he is and stuff like that, so there. I don't hate Martin or Redwall, but that's really what I think his character would think and feel.**

**And as for Keetch leaving, I bet someone out there thinks I'm dumb for making Keetch leave that safe haven. But if I were terribly hurt and guilty about something, I'd want to leave my past behind me too. Also, if you read the chapter carefully, there are some little subtle hints about Keetch's past in here somewhere ;)**

**Sort of sad that Brink punched Keetch in the end, even though he was very sorry. It's just that, I don't see Brink as much of the "forgiving type". Plus, I'd already promised a loyal reviewer that Keetch would get punched in the face for what happened in Chapter 19.**

**Just to remind you guys, I'm still doing those Character Bios, so if you want, just PM me. Or maybe if you've only been skimming through the story because it's so long (yes, I do the same sometimes) and you want to be more caught up, just PM me for the story in a nutshell. But I highly recommend that you actually read it all, since I can't cover every little detail or character development moment in a nutshell version. Plus reading is more fun :)**

**And I don't know if you noticed, but it seems as if Jolin has a crush on Brink. I'm not one to write romances, since I'm not usually into that stuff, but you can expect a few cute moments here and there, pairings, and possibly a future love triangle.**

**Also, the name for this chapter is based from the lyrics of "In the Arms of an Angel" by Sarah McLaughlin. I thought that those lyrics fit perfectly in Keetch's role here and I keep referring to that song whenever I write future chapters. Beautiful lyrics for a beautiful song. **

**So please, review and all that stuff. Any ideas, corrections, suggestions, questions, constructive criticism, comments, etc. are welcome and greatly appreciated. I really love hearing from you guys (I don't check my email every waking hour for no reason, you know). So please REVIEW and thanks for reading.**

**Jade TeaLeaf**


	24. Ghost of a Memory

**This chapter was loads of fun to write. By far, the most important and interesting of information in the chapter takes place in the second half. It's mainly because of the second half that the chapter gets such an interesting title (I love it). And pay attention to what you're reading, because there's one VERY subtle detail/hint located in here. It's hard to find, but don't worry, we'll cover that sometime later.**

**Also, as a warning, I plan to have a character in future chapters that has pretty bad language. Nothing like the f-bomb or the other word for "poo" (see how I avoid such stuff?) or anything too crude. The character would most likely say something like "dammit" or "hell" or "ass" anything of that caliber. Those words wouldn't be used in every sentence, just to tell you. Probably only once or twice per chapter. If anyone has a problem with this, please tell me. I definately don't want people to dislike my story because of something as trivial as this, so please alert me if you have serious problems or anything. **

**You're probably wondering why I'm making a character like that. Well, the thing is, I try to stay away from making woodlanders too goody-goody. Plus, I think it'll be more fun to write the character's dialogue this way.**

**And some more news: I've broken my record for signed reviews per chapter! For the last chapter, I had 11 signed reviews! Thanks guys!**

**Special thanks to the 11: Cinnamonpool, I.HAVE.A.PERSONALITY.DISORDER, Jarrtail, Awsomewriter123, Adderstar of Valorclan, Foeseeker, SilverZeo, Foxstar24, MangaHottie740, Reynoi, and DPBCLover.**

* * *

**Ghost of a Memory**

* * *

Jolin hummed quietly to herself as she walked down the abbey halls with a tray off food balanced in her paws. The past week was like a breath of fresh air to her. Of course, she knew it was terrible that vermin had been spotted in Mossflower and some poor beasts got hurt, but she couldn't help but feel happy that it happened. She mentally slapped herself for thinking that, but she couldn't deny it was true.

Brink was a traveler by heart, and if it wasn't for his injuries, he would have probably left by now. And even better, she had the important role of taking care of him and helping nurse him back to health. Jolin blushed at the thought of him. He was so quiet compared to the otters she was used to, but that could have amounted to the fact that he seemed a little depressed at the moment.

But no matter, a couple days with some proper company, and he should be a little more cheerful and talkative, she supposed. Then again, she wasn't quite sure if sea otters were supposed to be like river otters. Were they just as loud and playful? Or were they almost like polar opposites? But either way, she couldn't help but think about him all the time and wonder if he'll ever talk to her in a joking manner or even hold a decent conversation with her.

"Achoo! Achoo!" She jumped at the sounds, nearly making the tray topple out of her paws. She frowned in frustration as she placed the tray on the ground and shifted its now-jumbled contents around to give it a more suitable appearance.

"ACHOO!" Picking it up, she approached the next hall and gave an exasperated sigh.

"Rosco, what happened this time?"

"I- uh... Achoo! I was taking my afternoon nap outside and then it drizzled and I was all cold when I woke up... and... Ach_oo_! I must've dozed off longer than I thought... Why didn't anybeast wake me up!" her brother sniffed.

"Well you shouldn't have been sleeping there in the first place," she said in a scolding tone, "And don't forget to cover your mouth." At that, Rosco covered his lower face with his paws before he let out another explosive sneeze.

"Rosco, do us all a favor and remember to wash your paws," she groaned as she pulled a handerchief out of her pocket and handed it to her grateful brother, "For goodness sakes, Rosco, you're almost full-grown! You can't expect your little sister to take care of you forever!"

"Sor... Achoo! ...ry" he mumbled as he blew into the cloth. Grimacing, Jolin shifted the tray the other way around so it wouldn't face the contagious otter. Of course, Rosco suddenly took notice of it.

"Oh good, you brought soup. Thanks," he said through a stuffy nose.

"No! This is for Brink," she replied, "And by the way, where is he?"

"Brink...? I think he and Tarka went for a stroll. So... if he's not here, can I _please_ have it?"

"He's not here?" she repeated with a crestfallen look, "Oh, but I made this just for him..."

"Oooh, Jolin loves Brink," her brother said in his best singsong voice. The ottermaid immediately felt a searing hot rush in her cheeks.

"No I don't!" she snapped.

"Ha! You denied it! That means it's true!" Rosco said loudly.

"Shhhh!" she shushed, but his devilish grin frustrated her further.

"You know what, just for that, you can't have it!" she smirked.

"Wha-? Hey, that's no fair!"

"Is too!" she retorted, prompting Rosco to take an alternative.

"Jolin loves Brink! Jolin loves Brink!" he yelled as loud as he could and eventually, his little sister finally gave in.

"Fine, fine. Just take it and shut up," she sulked as she handed him the tray.

"Thanks sis," he said as he gulped the contents of the bowl down, "Mmmm... your shrimp 'n' hotroot soups the best, as always!"

* * *

Even without crutches, Brink still felt slightly unstable and weak. And he hated it. He wasn't used to having somebeast wait for him to catch up, or for anybeast to constantly pester him with dumb questions like "Are you alright?" and "Do you want me to fetch you anything?" and "I'll get Sister Mirril for you." He was practically an adult, for crying out loud! He didn't need to be cared after and coddled like some... now what was that word... oh yes, like some _dibbun_.

And it didn't help matters when Tarka would question him about Keetch. He didn't want to talk about his adventures or that fox ever again. Why was that nosy otter butting into his business anyway? Why can't he just shut up about it and leave history as it is? Why can't that prying otter take "no" for an answer instead of dragging him out through the woods just to visit his parents. Speaking of which, how were _they _even supposed to change his mind?

"Don't worry, we're almost there," Tarka said reassuringly at him.

"I'm fine," he replied gruffly, "I can go like this for miles. Don't worry about me."

"But you seem a little..." Tarka trailed off. Obviously, his talking was only going to fuel Brink's stubborn mindset. "It's just over there," he finished, pointing at a spot in the path.

On the side it was marked by two, flat, gray stones with fresh flowers on top of them. From the looks of it, somebeast had been visiting that spot frequently.

"But I thought we were supposed to be visiting your parents," Brink said impatiently, trying to hide the fact that he was out of breath, "I don't see a house anywhere around. And all there is here are a couple'a rocks that look like tomb-... oh..." his voice faltered as the realization seeped into him.

"I'm sorry," he muttered, slightly embarraced.

"It's alright," Tarka replied with a sad smile, "It's just that, when you asked me why I wanted to know so much about vermin, I decided that I might as well _show_ you what happened instead of _telling_ you."

"What do you mean?" Brink asked.

"I mean, that everything happened when I was just barely older than a dibbun. My parents were slaughtered by vermin right before my eyes... I was so young... and I don't even remember what their names were. They were just mom and dad," Tarka's voice quivered, feeling a chill travel up his spine, "And I was so scared, I... I thought that I was going to die. But then... it's all a blur to me, but I think I was saved somehow... spared by them... I don't remember that much, except that I was hiding and they were going to get me. And then somebeast- another vermin, killed them before they had a chance. I don't know why he did it. But he did, and he made me swear never to tell. _Never_."

"But you're telling me right now. And how are you so sure that it was a vermin that saved you? You said it yourself that your memory is a little hazy, so how do you know that it wasn't a woodlander that saved you? How?" Brink asked, his interest piqued.

"I know what I saw," Tarka insisted, "Anyway, the incident happened so long ago, I'm sure that he wouldn't mind if I start mentioning it now. And besides, what woodlander out there even resembles a wolf?"

"... A _wolf_?... What are those?"

"A wolf looks like a giant fox, only with different colors... at least, that's what the books I've read say," Tarka answered, "And anyways nothing around these parts looks like one. So there's no way I could have confused it with something else. In fact, wolves don't even come to this area. That's why Skipper and the others didn't believe me. Wolves live far in the North, so why would one come all the way over here?

"And so that's why..." he stopped to quickly wipe some tears from his eyes, "...that's why I want to know if it's possible for vermin to be good. I want to know that what I saw was really the truth."

"All right, all right," Brink said as he laid a hesitant, but comforting paw on his shoulder, "It's alright. I'll tell you eveything you want to know."

"Thanks Brink," Tarka sniffed.

"Just one thing," the older otter replied, "Just stop crying all the time. I really hate it when that happens." He grimaced slightly to emphasize his point.

"Sorry, Brink. Sorry."

"And stop apologizing," he heaved an exasperated sigh.

* * *

_**Flashback Seven Seasons Ago**_

A small family of otters were traveling down the dirt path, carrying everything that they owned in their arms. Their home had been destroyed in a violent storm, but they were thankful that nobeast was hurt. Homeless with winter coming upon them, they had decided to head to Redwall. The redstone abbey had a reputation for its hospitality and they were sure they couldn't deny a family of woodlanders some shelter.

Their child, a small otter cub, wandered from them, chasing a butterfly that danced playfully out of his reach while his parents chuckled at his childish antics from afar.

"Tarka, stay close! Don't wander off!" his mother called out to him.

"Now don't worry," her husband laughed, "He's just havin' a bit of fun."

_Crunch... crunch... crunch..._

Slowly, his laughter died as he heard the crackling of footsteps in the forest... and the birds were quiet for once. He cast a suspicious glance on his surroundings, detecting nothing.

"Listen," he whispered to his wife, "Don't panic, but I think-" Halting abruptly, sucking in a small breath of air before slumping uselessly to the ground, blood bubbling from an arrow in his back.

Shrieking in panic, his wife dropped all her belongings and ran, scooping her oblivious child in her arms. But her path was cut short, as a ferret barred her way, brandishing his weapon with glee. She spun around, only to see two more vermin right behind her. Seeing that her chances of escape were slim, she hugged her frightened child to her, shielding him from the sight.

"Spare the child, spare the child," she begged.

Any normal beast would've felt at least some pang of pity for them- but not her assailants. They laughed cruelly with each other as an evil idea entered their sick minds, for her gesture of selflessness only gave them the thought of killing the child first- and forcing her to watch.

But try as they might, they couldn't pry the cub out of his mother's grasp. No matter how hard they beat her or cut her, she held on to him tightly. She crouched down to her knees and hugged him close to her, keeping him protected from all four sides. At least he could be safe as long as she was alive.

"Spare the child, oh please, spare the child," she muttered, half delirious from the pain. But still, she kept up her vain attempts even up until a spear finally wedged itself into her spine.

The otter cub let up a thin wail as the sharp blade pierced through his mother's body and nearly skewered him. Scrambling out from under her, he wriggled his way through the waiting paws of the vermin and into the fringe of the woods, not bearing to stray too far from his parents- even if they were dead.

In shock, he felt his legs give way as he just reached an oak tree. He staggered behind the trunk in a pitiful attempt to hide himself as the vermin approached him slowly, letting him suffer this fear as long as they wanted. The cub shivered and sobbed quietly to himself as he heard the crunching noises of footpaws coming for him. He was now at their mercy and nobeast was around to protect him.

And even when the hideous face of a rat appeared next to him with a dagger poised to strike, poor little Tarka couldn't find the courage to run. The vermin seemed to be relishing his moment of power before he was distracted from agonized shrieks.

The rat twisted his head to look backwards and he too yelped shrilly at the sight. Almost instantly he felt a powerful force pull at his tail, yanking him upward. In sheer desparation, the rat dug his claws into the tree trunk and flailed his legs about, but to no avail.

Blood-curdling sounds and screaming sounded in the atmosphere and the cub didn't dare steal a peek at what was happenining.

"If there is one thing I hate, it's deserters!" snarled a chillingly calm voice from behind the tree, sounds of tearing flesh and terrified cries mingling with the words.

Petrified, Tarka waited breathlessly for the sounds to cease, shaking like a leaf. Slowly, he let out the breath he was holding, hoping for a moment that whatever terrible force was out there, it wasn't aware of his existence.

He gasped as a huge paw appeared out of nowhere and grabbed his arm, yanking him backwards and thrusting him into the open path- where there was nowhere to run or hide. The cub brought himself into a clumsy skid before he tripped over something.

Cautiously opening his eyes, he yelped at the sight of a vermin's decapitated head staring back at him, its mouth stretched open in a silent scream. Tarka scrambled backwards, only to bump into something else.

Slowly, he looked up to see a snarling face glaring down at him. Instinctively, the cub curled to the ground, cowering in fear at the sheer size of the beast. It was huge, silver, and had a large snout that housed the largest, sharpest teeth he had ever seen. His clothes, claws, and even his fangs were stained red with the blood, and in each paw, the creature held a wickedly curved sabre with a golden prong-shaped insignia on its hilt, also dripping the crimson liquid.

The otter quailed at the monster in front of him and felt all his fear seeping out of his mouth in high-pitched whimpering. But the creature simply walked around him to pick the decapitated heads of the vermin and stuff them into a burlap bag. The otter watched him wordlessly, staring in awe as the huge beast stripped them of their weapons slung the body of a weasel over his shoulders with fair ease. He never thought that anybeast could be strong enough to do something like that.

Carefully, Tarka swallowed and spoke up in a shrill voice, "Not gonna kill me?"

The creature froze, and turned around, his face grinning viciously and his voice raspy, "Are you saying you want me to?"

"No, no," the dibbun squeaked, clasping his paws over his mouth.

"Your head is worth nothing to me," he replied gruffly, "So I will spare you, not because I pity you, but because it's pointless to waste my energy on something so pathetic. So unless you want me to change my mind, you _will not_ tell anybeast of what happened here. _Understood_?"

The cub merely nodded, squirming backwards at the threat.

"Good," the wolf grunted, "Then feel free to die in any way you see fit." And with that, he left, leaving the poor little otter cub isolated with the bodies of his parents and the mangled, twisted bodies of their hideous murderers.

Who knew how many the cub stayed there, lying on the ground next to his mother as if she were still alive. He was scared and alone, and all the poor otter could remember was that it was drizzling when he was found.

Feverish and half-asleep, he saw a lantern glowing faintly in the distance, inching closer to him. He closed his eyes for a moment and that lantern was hovering over him and a panicked voice was saying "Skipper! Skipper! Come quick! We found something."

And all was dark.

* * *

He awoke to the touch of a gentle paw on his forehead. Slowly opening his eyes, Tarka expected to be back in his home. But he wasn't in that familiar wooden cabin. He was in some large, sunlit room of beautiful red stone.

"Mom?" he called out, turning his head to see, not his mother, but a very young mousemaid barely over her childhood years. He wasn't afraid of her, since she was very pretty and looked very kind and gentle. But what _did_ scare him was that she didn't say anything. She just looked at the floor miserably, and instantly, Tarka recalled everything that had happened.

"Where's my mom?" he asked desperately, his voice failing him, "Where's my dad?" But she continued to stare at the floor, tears slowly forming in her eyes. Tarka was hoping that maybe it was all a terrible nightmare. Maybe he fell asleep and they carried him all the way over here? And maybe they were somewhere else, doing something important and the mouse just had something in her eyes...

"No," he whispered, trying to convince himself, "No." He shook his head dumbly, staring at her in shock, his eyes pleading her to say something. But she just stood there, silent, tears falling freely from her face now. And now it was Tarka's turn to cry. They came slowly at first, but once one drop came, the rest came pouring out.

"I want my _mom_!" he sobbed as he threw a blanket over his head, "I want my _dad_! Mom! Dad!" But he knew it was pointless. No matter how loud or how long he was going to scream and cry, they were gone and they weren't going to come back.

* * *

**So what did you think about poor Tarka's past? I know, a lot of you wanted this to be about Keetch, but the next chapter is Keetch-centric, so don't worry. And although it seems interesting, but irrelevent, Tarka's past is a pretty big link to a plot twist going to take place in future chapters. **

**And what did you think about Jolin's crush on Brink? And Rosco's your classic older brother, isn't he? I just _had_ to insert that "If-you-deny-it-it's-true" theory. I hate that thing so much. Remember, Jolin's 14, so I guess it's kind of normal for people to go through such a stage. I'm making her like an "immature character that wants to be grown-up" on purpose, just to let you guys know.**

**And what about the wolf? I really liked that quote "Feel free to die in any way you see fit." Any guesses at all about this guy? (please PM them to me instead of putting it in your review, because those would be spoilers). **

**Also, I really had trouble thinking about what kind of symbol/insignia to use for this chapter. Fortunately, my Biology class pulled through for me and gave me the idea of the prong-shaped thing:**

Ψ

**It's supposed to be a Greek letter and the scientific symbol for "water potential", just to tell you guys.**

**So thanks for reading. Please REVIEW because I love hearing what you guys have to say (whether it's good or bad, I love feedback). So any comments, suggestions, encouragement, constructive criticism, ideas, questions, corrections, etc. are great. Thanks for reading.**


	25. Fate Beckons

**Remember how I was so happy to have 11 Reviews for that last chapter? Well good news. Now I've got a whoppin' 13 Reviews. And thanks to Reader Traffic, I know that more people have read my fic in the month of September than in August. Special thanks to all of you guys who've been reading. **

**Disclaimer: After seeing the wolf in the last chapter, I think a lot of you instantly thought about Warrior4's story. I'm just going ahead to tell you that the wolves in this story will play different roles and won't function quite like Winter's Flowers.**

**And an extra special thanks to the 13: I.HAVE.A.PERSONALITY.DISORDER, Jarrtail, Cinnamonpool, SilverZeo, Zinachu, Awsomewriter123, Foeseeker, Reynoi, Foxstar24, Martin the Warrior (anonymous), Red Squirrel Writer, MangaHottie740, and DPBCLover. For the rest of you I didn't name, follow their example :)**

**There is some _CONTEST INFO_ this time around but that's at the end of the chapter. That's right, some lucky person is going to get to read the end of "Part 1" of the story before everyone else. I like to think of it as a "Season Finale". It's a big one, since I've already finished writing it and it is a long and important one, since it covers a huge component of the story that a lot of you guys have been asking me about. So keep reading and remember to enter the contest.**

* * *

**Fate Beckons**

* * *

He had been traveling for days. How many, he didn't know and he didn't see any reason to keep track of such knowledge. What for? Nobeast was missing him. And nobeast was waiting for him to come back. None of that mattered and Keetch began getting used to the idea, trudging along endlessly in a slightly limping gait, ignoring the curious glares sent his way.

Whatever few beasts he passed in his travels were more than afraid of this strange creature. They avoided him like a plague and preferred only to watch him from a safe distance, wondering about his fur, where he was going, and most of all, why he was dressed in proper Redwall attire. But, seeing him pass quietly away without even a curious glance, the woodlanders were content to get on with their lives.

But on this particular day, all the woodlanders were safely tucked away in their homes as a storm raged and honed all its wrath on one unfortunate creature. Keetch struggled against the stinging rain and the bullying wind, hoping to find shelter someplace. But it was dark, and the pelting rain blurred his vision.

With nothing but oncoming darkness in the path ahead, Keetch couldn't help but wish that somebeast was with him- anybeast. For the past few days, he had been all alone, with nobeast to talk to. Slowly, he had to recount his memories, just to remember that he wasn't the only being in this empty, dark world. Brink, Tarka, Naplin, Sister Wayrin, and Ma Krammel... all the beasts that had ever shown kindness to him seemed so far away in his memory. It was if it had all been some strange and terrible dream.

He brought up the memory of Ma Krammel, who was so kind and motherly towards him. He wished she were alive now, so she could tell him that these things he did weren't his fault. And then there was Sister Wayrin, who was nothing but kind and asked for nothing but kindness in return. If she was here, she'd probably pester Keetch to return to Redwall, promising him all the happiness in the world.

And Naplin was so full of fun and optimism and hope. If only he was granted the gift of such an outlook on life. He wondered where she was now... off on some wild adventure at Lord Rathor's side? Or was she probably cooped up in that craggy mountain? Well, where ever she was, Keetch wished her well.

As for Tarka, he was young, but so very understanding and wise beyone his years- though he still had some ways to go. But Tarka was so naive, he'd probably try to convince him that Brink still cared. And speaking of Brink...

Yes, he was annoying and irritable at first, but they had soon grown to be good friends. It was as if he, a fox, had pain-stakingly earned a woodlander's friendship. And it was a very close one, since he doubted that any other creature in the world could connect to Brink's experience quite as well as he does. They'd been through everything together, through thick and thin.

Oh how he hated those chains. But now, for some odd reason he wished they'd never been removed. When freeing them from their chains, Lord Rathor had given both of them their own abilities to make choices for themselves. But he had also unwittingly given Keetch the ability to abandon his friend. The snow fox almost laughed out loud at the irony.

But as he was thinking about this, his paw slipped on some mud and he went sprawling off the road and down a steep slope. It was all dark, and the fox had absolutely no sense of direction during his long and painful decent. The only time when he was aware of his position was only when he hit the ground- but that was only for a moment before he continued downhill.

At first, he had reached his arms out unseeingly, attempting to grapple onto a tree root, a boulder, anything to steady his fall. But he quickly had to resort to shielding his face, as he felt a sharp object- probably a stick- rip through his cheek. With barely any means of stopping, Keetch was at the mercy of gravity, hoping he would roll to a stop before he went off a cliff or something.

And then the worst happened- he couldn't feel the ground underneath him anymore. He screamed as he felt himself fall, expecting to smash into rocks some time or another. But instead of feeling the pain of impact, he heard a _splash_ and felt the cold seep into him as water flooded his nose and mouth.

Luckily, it wasn't a deep or fast-flowing stream, and despite his inept swimming skills, he managed to find his way to the muddy bank. It seemed as if everybody- even the wind and water hated him. In fact, it seemed as if he was Fate's own private joke. Cold, hungry, alone, and lost, Keetch sobbed quietly, wishing for some change of luck.

And it seemed as if Fate itself felt some guilt and granted his wish.

"Wearing Abbey clothes, eh?" a sarcastic voice asked. Keetch spun around to see a young ferret, just around his age. The first thing that came to Keetch's mind was that he wasn't wearing anything suitable for the weather, just a simple brown tunic with a tight leather belt around his waist.

"I figured they'd cast you out. They aren't very trusting towards our kind, are they?" he grinned cruelly. Normally, Keetch would've been happy even to see a vermin, but something was seriously wrong with this one- he felt it in his gutt. He inched away slowly, watching the ferret suspiciously.

"What, you don't trust me?" he asked, raising his arms to his sides with exaggerated expression of hurt.

"What do you want?" the fox asked with a higher-pitched voice than he intended.

"Relax," he chuckled dryly, "I just wanna talk with ya. Besides, if I really wanted to kill you, I would've done that by now." Personally, Keetch thought the last statement was unnecessary.

"Talk about what?" he asked.

"Talk about Redwall, I suppose," the ferret shrugged, "I lived there once, ya know. But I was cast out for something that was so unfair... that poison was made for that stupid friar... he deserved it... ha!" For a moment, it seemed as if he was sidetracked into reminiscing, forgetting that he was talking to Keetch instead of himself. But he quickly caught himself before he started prattling on some more.

"So where was I... oh yes," he smiled, "So I suppose you wanted to prove yourself to them and show them that you're capable of doing 'good', didn't you? Well, now I suppose you've seen their true nature. They might act all nice to you, but they'll never actually _like_ you. Know why? It's 'cause you're like me, a _vermin_."

"Be quiet," Keetch snapped, "They were kind-hearted enough to give me food and shelter. Even if they disliked me, they at least found some compassion in their hearts to help me instead of sneering about it like you are." But the insult didn't change the ferret's easy attitude. He simply leaned against a tree and gave him a knowing look.

"Oh, well I think Brink thought otherwise," his face cracked into a wide, toothy grin as he watched the fox's reaction.

"How did you know?" the fox gaped, his face contorting into a wounded snarl.

"Get away from me," he muttered, clenching his fists, "I don't want to talk about any of this anymore."

"I think you do," he replied with a smirk, "It's been on your mind for a while now, after all." Slowly, he lifted his left paw, holding it up for the fox to see. Keetch gasped as he realized that this ferret had not five- but _six_ claws.

"See this," the stranger nodded to the abnormality, "This is the mark of a true vermin- my trademark... and this," he took ahold of the collar of his tunic, stretching it downwards, "Is my mark of death... and shame."

Keetch couldn't help but stare at the bloody hole of a wound on the ferret's chest. It seemed fresh, as if it was done just the same day. There was no way the ferret could survive such a wound- much less feel no pain from it.

"Like it, don't you?" he asked smugly, "It's a little gift from my father... after doing something good for once in my life- ha!" With that, he covered the gaping hole, his expression seeming all but proud.

"But enough about me," he recovered his composure, a confident smirk on his face once again, "What about you? What are your plans now that you've got nobody to make the decisions for you? Travel the world for the rest of your life?" Keetch paused, for he didn't know how to answer that question. Instead, he simply answered with another question.

"But you're going to die, aren't you? You've got to get that seen by a healer or something!"

"I said enough about me," the ferret snapped, "I've got other things to worry about."

"And how do you know who I am? And who Brink is? How do you-" The ferret interrupted with another chilling laugh.

"It doesn't matter how I know, does it? All that matters is what I'm going to tell you, so _shut up and listen!_" All the amusement and spiteful sarcasm was gone in his voice now, and he was glaring at Keetch.

"There is a danger coming to Redwall soon... very soon... I can't say when or from where, but it's coming _very_ soon," he said slowly, "Prepare for that day." And with that, he ran off, faster than a wounded beast should run.

"Wait!" Keetch called, chasing after him. He didn't know where he was going, doggedly following the figure blindly. And try as he might, whenever he got close, the darkness obliterated his view and the ferret was somehow much farther than before. At first, Keetch thought he was going to lose him, but then the ferret stopped in front of a yawning cave.

"But what do you mean?" Keetch yelled. He reached out to grab his arm, but he felt his paw grip nothing but air as the ferret entered the cave, dematerializing into the darkness.

"Don't forget, now," the ferret flashed another toothy grin and the darkness swallowed him.

"But I don't _understand_!" Keetch yelled in a pleading tone, "Please, help me. I don't know what to do. Don't leave me like this... with no answers or anything..."

"Stop yelling!" a voice, raspy and grating, answered his calls. Keetch held his breath as the speaker slowly wobbled out of the cave's mouth and revealed itself to be an gray, decrepit, hunchbacked vixen leaning against a gnarled staff. She looked at the fox before her before asking a question, her breath foul.

"What are you doing all the way over here, snow fox?"

"M-m-me?" he asked.

"Yes you!" she spat, "Who else could I be talking to?!"

"... I have to see that ferret," Keetch panted, "I have to speak with him. It's important." But the vixen only gave him a quizzical look that told him that she didn't understand what he was talking about.

"He just ran into your cave," he explained, hoping it would clear everything up. But she just stood there, staring at him.

"But you _had_ to have seen him!" he insisted, "He was standing right in front of me! I _saw_ him running into your cave. I saw it with _my _own eyes!"

"What are you saying?" the vixen rasped, "I haven't seen a creature in well over a season. Nor has one ever tried to get into my cave... he wouldn't even if he was dying," she cackled at this as if it were a common joke, "And there is only one set of tracks here- and that's _yours_." The wind howled into the cave, its echoes sounding like moaning.

"... But I saw him... I saw him... I did..." Keetch stared dumbfoundedly at his lonely set of tracks.

"Interesting... Interesting, yes," she muttered to herself.

"I really saw him!" Keetch insisted.

"Come inside, young one," the old hag beckoned him with a crooked, calloused claw. Normally, Keetch would've been on guard and refused such a suspicious offer, yet he was so confounded at the moment, he accepted the offer without a second thought.

* * *

The cave was much longer and wider than Keetch had thought. It wasn't that it was dark or had a rank odor that worried him, but the fact that the walls had niches filled with odds and ends of strange objects- herbs, bones, carcasses of birds and fish, and jars of who-knows-what.

"Sit, sit," she said invitingly, pointing at the cold floor. Keetch obeyed gingerly, wondering what had happened to the old crone in the past to make her live like some madbeast. The vixen sat down as he did, staring at him until Keetch felt as if she were looking straight into his very soul.

"They call me Grack, young one," she finally introduced, "And who might you be?"

"Keetch," he answered simply.

"So... what brings you here then?" her voice grated.

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Of course you don't. We all have secrets, don't we?" Keetch only stared at her, wondering which direction the conversation was getting towards.

"But I suppose one of your biggest secrets has already been exposed...," she gave him a toothless smile, "...by my own sharp vision." She pointed a withered claw at her misty gray eyes. Keetch then began to wonder if the ferret really did exist, and being partially blind, there was no way for the vixen to notice him.

"Oh, but there are more senses than seeing, young one," she said as if reading his thoughts, "There's also hearing, touch, smell, and... other senses..."

"Other senses?"

"Oh yes, yes. The sense you and I have are very rare- very rare indeed!" Grack cackled. Keetch could feel his head spinning at what she was saying- "you and I"?

_"What did she mean by that? I don't have anything special do I? Maybe she's just insane... yes, that's likely."_ he thought to himself.

"You must have noticed it by now," she pointed out, "The _signs_! You must've had a sight or a message from Fate!" From her crazed ramblings, Keetch couldn't help but feel frightened of the frail old vixen.

"What are you talking about?"

She whirled her attention to him, her eyes glazing a gray-blue light, "A special aura comes from you, young one. You are indeed a chosen one that fate has given to me... yes, yes. Fate has led you here."

"But it wasn't _Fate_," Keetch protested, "I was just delirious from hunger and dazed from the cold... yes, that's it. Just a coincidence."

"There's no such things as _coincidence,_" she snapped, "Fate has led you to me, young seer." At this, Keetch had to fight against barking out a rude laugh.

"But I'm not a seer! Only vixens are seers.. aren't they?"

"Normally, yes," Grack replied, pointing a gnarled claw upwards to emphasize her point, "But there are _always_ exceptions."

"But I-"

"Now don't tell me that you've never had a moment in your life where something strange had ever happened. You must have had a sight by now," she asked, coaxing the information out of him.

"Yes... yes I did," he answered hesitantly, feeling slightly foolish, "But that was only a few times... a long time ago. Just dreams really... like now." He screwed his eyes shut and pinched his arm hard, only to crack an eyelid open and see himself in the same situation. The vixen made gasping noises, and at first, Keetch thought she was suffocating. But it was only her laughter- run dry and odd from all its misuse.

"This is no nightmare. Fate has led you here in the form of a spirit- a ghost. Obviously, you are needed here by its decree. Aren't you...," she paused slightly, as if searching for the right word, "... _interested_ in the fate of Mossflower?" Keetch just stared at her, speechless. He had to admit, he was always curious about the visions he would see at times- the ones nobeast ever understood. There were those dreams of Martin, the ghost, that sight of a dead fish that predicted death, and his very first vision- the vision of a black owl.

"Danger and tragedy will befall the place and all of Mossflower country in the future! And Redwall, too, will fall with it!" she cackled.

"You're mad," he breathed.

"You have been given a similar message, haven't you?" seeming to be able to see him clearly, she cast him a knowing smile.

"Y-y-yes."

Her weak eyes flashed with a glint of hatred as she continued, "And I want to see Redwall fall... but I may not be able to live for that, no. But I want it to fall! Fall for what it did _to me_!" At that moment, relief flooded over Keetch, who was glad to know that her blind eyes would never be keen enough to notice his abbey clothes.

"But what did they do to you... to make you hate them so much?" he asked timidly, hoping the question wouldn't send her reeling to a bout of fury.

"Hahaha," she laughed bitterly, and then coughed from the effort, "What vermin _doesn't_ want to see that accursed abbey fall? They destroyed my tribe, the Juskarok! Oh yes, we were the most feared of Juska even though we had no Taggerung. And being the seer, I had lived a priveledged life, yes. _But_ that leader of mine was a fool, taking on Redwall when the time was not ripe. I tried to warn him, but he led the whole clan to its demise... nearly ninety seasons ago."

"Ninety seasons?!" Keetch gaped, "But that means you're-"

"Ancient, yes," she wheezed, drawing her tattooed face closer to his, "But through my own skills as a seer, I managed to escape and survive for much _much_ longer than a healthy natural life. Oh, how long I've clung on to life in this miserably weak form... and I feel that my time is finally coming to an end... and I want _you _to take my place..."

"Take _your_ place? In _here_?" he grimaced at the thought of living in this cave, "And do _what_?"

"Why, every army needs a seer. That's what we exist to do, aide our master as advisors to victory!" she gave a crooked smile, "And you are to help them. Your skills would be highly valued, yes."

He had to admit, it was an idea that would benefit him. Though, the thought of visiting that peaceful abbey in that way twisted in his gut. What would Brink say? He could never do that to Redwall... if only it were some other place- one that he didn't have any connections to. But still, he was intrigued by what the vixen was telling him.

"But I don't know anything about being a seer."

"That's why you're here, so I can train you in our ways."

_"If I were to get this training... I could be living a good life. I could search for any other army besides the ones coming here. It doesn't have to be Redwall does it?"_ he thought to himself.

"Of course, you have to take an oath that you'll help the vermin destroy Redwall," Grack added. And then the thought hit him.

_"The ferret told me to 'prepare for that day' but he didn't tell me which side to be on. I don't have to work for a vermin army. My skills would be useful in Redwall as well. I could train to be a seer and guide the Redwallers to victory. I'll finally redeem myself as a vermin,_" the idea made him smile. What a glorious and noble his return would be, warning the woodlanders and saving them all. Well, that would make him a hero, wouldn't it? And someday, if Brink ever wandered back to Redwall from his travels, he would be there to greet him, this time as a goodbeast.

He parted his mouth to speak when suddenly he sensed a slight movement of shadows in the corner. He whirled around in surprise only to see that it was just the faint shadows playing tricks on him, since the only one there was a small, emaciated rabbit barely older than six seasons. She seemed equally surprised, for she quickly leaped away from his direction and into a pile of bones, stumbling on them noisily.

"You clumsy little fool of a slave!" the vixen scolded harshly, "Get back down there and finish the task I gave you! I'll deal with you later!" The rabbit scurried away, eager to be out of her presence.

Keetch flattened his ears, not quite sure what to make of his situation. He thought he'd been done with vermin and slavery a long time ago. But this was going to be for the good of Salamandastron, Redwall, and Brink- practically everybeast that was ever kind to him. But he would have to sacrifice seasons of his life in this deathtrap with a mad, cruel, nasty vixen as his master. But was it really worth it? Did fate really lead him here for a purpose?

"... Of course, you can always make the foolish choice of declining the apprenticeship. After all, it's going to be such strange, painful, and long training. But it is all worth it, since you will be highly valued for your knowledge and you will forever be in the favor of Fate," the vixen rasped, "However, you must consider that Fate has brought you here for a reason."

"If Fate has been ruling my life so far, then don't think that it's has been all too fair, then," Keetch muttered sourly.

"Not true, not true," the seer shook her head vigorously, as if apologizing to Fate on behalf of her potential apprentice, "Fate can be cruel and kind, only depending on ourselves. Fate only leads us up to a point in our lives where we have to make choices. Of course, there are always consequences for our actions. It's not Fate who's in charge, it's ourselves."

"I don't understand."

"For example, Fate never_ made _you follow the spirit here. You saw it, and made the decision to come. The _visions_ are Fate's doing, but how you react to them are always your own," Grack wheezed. Keetch couldn't help but wince at the thoughts that twisted in his mind.

_"Then it was never Fate that made me betray Brink... I can never blame it on anyone but myself. Fate had given me the choice to make amends and prove myself but I made the wrong decision- a decision I'll always regret..."_

"How long is the training?" he looked up, wanting to distract himself from his memory, "What will I learn, exactly?"

"No beast can tell how long a training takes, since every beast has different capabilities. You, I think, will be a fast learner, yes," she sucked in a dry breath, "And you will learn to use the plants of healing that nature has bestowed upon us. You will also learn about the forces of the world that neither you or I- or any of the seers of all time _combined _could ever fathom. And most of all, your eyes will be open to the world around you and you shall see through life with certainty."

The snow fox didn't know what to say. The doors of his mind seemed to have been swung wide open by the speech, the most beautiful and wonderous ideas and images pouring in. Before this day, he couldn't even imagine having such power and wisdom! All this time, he thought he was a simple, ordinary vermin. But now he knew that he had a deeper purpose- a link between the living and the mysterious forces of the world!

_"All the things I can do with this training! I was born special. This was what I was always meant to do! If Fate was truly giving me a choice now, why not take it? Why not take all of this power and knowledge unattainable to everybeast around me? Why be another normal soldier in the battlefield when I could be an esteemed and wise advisor? Why not take this oppurtunity to become something more important?"_

Finally, Keetch had made his decision.

"I accept your training."

* * *

**_CONTEST INFO_**

**Alright, here's the deal: **

**You can read the "Book 1" Finale by Wednesday, 2 days before anyone else. This is a big deal, since it will cover one major question that everyone's been asking me. I'm already done with it and it's a whopping 5,300-something words long (that excludes my insanely long author commentaries too). And I'm really proud of it, so it's a REALLY BIG DEAL for me.**

**I've set up my own poll on my Profile so check it out. The question is "Who do you like better? Brink or Keetch?" This is a blind poll (which means that only I can see the results), which is where the fun starts. If you want to win this thing, you have to tell me what you think the score will be at the end.**

**You're going to have to give me your guess in a review or send me a message. I don't care if you've never reviewed before or anything like that. If you're anonymous, it can be done. Just make sure you give me a way to reply you. **

**The closed will be closed on Wednesday 3:00 EST so enter now!**

**_And remember to vote!!_ It won't be fun if the result is 0:0 or something lame like that. Here's an example of what your entry should look like:**

**Brink 15, Keetch 37 (just make sure that I can distinguish between Brink's vote and Keetch's votes). **

**The person who has the closest guess is the winner. If there's a tie, then I guess 2 people get it. So please, please, _please,_ remember to vote.**

**Remember, you have to promise me that you'll review the chapter when it comes out.**

**Author Notes**

**I want to thank Addestar of Valorclan for allowing me to use Veil Sixclaw like this. If you've read her story, Bond of Brotherhood, you know what I'm talking about. ;)**

**_WARNING_: the next chapter will have some crazy, dark Seer voodoo magic. So if any of you guys detest that, please let me know so I can fix that for you. Trust me, I really don't want to creep people out or anything like that. Just wanted to warn you.**

**I'm still doing character bios and plot summaries for all of you that are either confused, interested, etc. **

**Also, REVIEW this story because I really want to hear from you guys. Criticism, praise, it's all the same to me. If you don't like it, I don't blame you, so just fire away and give me some _constructive_ criticism. Any ideas, suggestions, questions, corrections, etc. are greatly appreciated and hey, I _always _send back a Review Reply to thank you.**

**Author Commentary**

**Recently, I've realized that I write author commentaries rather than author _notes_ so this is my section of not-so-important ramblings for people who actually care. Things like Character Development, some Hints and Foreshadowing, my personal thoughts, etc. will be discussed right here.**

**Yeah, I've noticed that Grack says "yes" a lot at the end of her sentences. I did that on purpose, just so every character doesn't sound the same. I guess you'd expect an ancient, dicrepit character to have a little bit of a weird dialogue habit going around.**

**I hope you liked the Veil part. I never really thought he was completely evil and I was angry that when he finally did something good, he was recognized as evil. Notice how he's so contradictory in this chapter. First he's mocking Redwall and seems to hate it, next he's warning Keetch about the trouble that will befall his old home.**

**Even Keetch had a bit of contradiction. Notice that he didn't have any problems with helping a vermin army if they were attacking anywhere else besides Redwall. I didn't quite want to make Keetch completely good (though, compared to most vermin, he's a real saint).**

**I guess that shows more character development in him. He's still quite loyal only to those who have been kind to him in the past. He's not completely good yet, just a little misled, but he's getting there. ;)**

**And oh yeah, please remember to tell me what you think... REVIEW!!**


	26. Whisper of the Apocalypse

**IT'S MY BIRTHDAY THIS SATURDAY SO PLEASE REMEMBER TO REVIEW. JUST DO IT AS A BIRTHDAY FAVOR!**

**Special thanks to the 14 who REVIEWED (yes, another record broken!): Red Squirrel Writer, Zinachu, Foeseeker, Awsomewriter123, Martin the Warrior (anonymous), Jarrtail, CinnamonPool, Reynoi, Adderstar of Valorclan, I.HAVE.A.PERSONALITY.DISORDER, FoxStar24, MangaHottie740, DPBCLover, SilverZeo, and Fwirl of Redwall.**

**Remember when I said that this big "Season Finale/ End of Book 1" chapter was approximately 5,000 words long? Well I lied. The truth is, this is actually 6,000 words long without any of my insanely long Author Commentaries (my commentaries are unneccesarily long but I just feel like I have to say everything). I just found a lot of things to add and edited some stuff so that's why it's so long. **

**The winner of last week's contest was I.HAVE.A.PERSONATLITY.DISORDER. The actual vote was Brink 3, Keetch 8 and the winner's guess was Brink 4, Keetch 8. Congrats, but I wasn't able to contact you, so I sent it to our 2nd place winner, DPBCLover who guessed Brink 1, Keetch 9. I was a little surprised that Keetch won by such a large margin. I was thinking that they were about even in popularity but I guess not. **

**I want to thank Red Squirrel Writer for telling me that I wasn't really paying attention to Brink that much and have been focusing on Keetch instead. After all, Keetch is a little angsty and so far, I've been really going in depth about that. I really wouldn't describe Brink to be angsty... maybe a little, but without any self-pity or self-loathing... if that makes sense. ****Anyways, thanks to the feedback, I extended Brink's segment to bring more light onto his thoughts. If you care about character development, I'm sure you'd like his segment.**

**Read this chapter closely, since there is a lot of things going on plot-wise and character-wise. You probably won't really understand anything by the next chapter if you skip over things.**

**Hint: Pay extra-close attention to the last segment, since there is a subtle recurring character in there. ;)**

**Music Suggestion: I listened to "Whisper of the Apocolypse" from the Bleach OST. It helped inspire me to write the segments after Keetch's segment. That's what the chapter's named after (love that name). You'll get why if you read on and read some of my author notes at the end. So if you feel like it, listen to that creepy music while you read that segment. It kind of matches, in my opinion.**

**_WARNING: Because I want to make this fic more suitable for younger viewers, I want to warn you that there will be some disturbing content in Keetch's segment. Now, if you're uncomfortable with Dark Magic, then I suggest you SKIP OVER that segment. To make it so that you won't miss out, I created a summary section at the end of the chapter without the vivid details. I hope that compensates for any inconveniences. Sorry. :(_**

* * *

**Whisper of the Apocolypse**

* * *

Brink sighed as he took his daily walk on the abbey grounds. It had already been several days since Keetch's departure and Brink still had a quiet demeanor about him. No matter how much the others tried to coax a conversation out of him, he couldn't seem to actually speak to them freely. He always felt awkward around them- especially Jolin. She was a friendly and kind ottermaid, but she was just _so _clingy.

"Brink mate! How've ya been?" The otter turned around to see none other than Log-a-log Urfo standing at the doorway. Brink was speechless as the shrew approached him and gave him a sharp slap on the shoulder- his _healing_ shoulder. He winced at the impact but other than that, kept silent, replacing the pained expression to a grinning one.

"Just gettin' along fine Log-a-log."

"So how's the food here, eh? The best food you're gonna taste in you're lifetime, I can promise that!" he chuckled, "And by and by, where's the snow fox? Enjoying the abbey life as well, isn't he?" The shrew's jolly laugh deteriorated as he noticed Brink's grim face.

"Well what's wrong?" he asked awkwardly, hoping he didn't say anything to offend him.

"It's nothing," the otter answered gruffly, though the shrew could easily see through the facade.

"C'mon, you can tell me, Brink."

"I said it's nothing," he replied once more.

"Well I can say the exact opposite, don'cha know?" a hare said as he appoached them. He was tall, lanky, his ears stood straight up to match his perfect posture, and his red, long-sleeved jacket was bejewelled with shining silver buttons and various medals. To Brink, it seemed almost like something that just came alive and leaped out of the past, back when Keetch and Brink held each other with slight resentment. But that was a long time ago, and now it seemed as if the days of loneliness, bitterness, and uppity hares was making a comeback into his life.

"Private Sagewood Thatcher, messenger of Salamandastron, at your service," he offered his gloved paw to Brink, indicating that he should shake it.

"Nice to meet you too," Brink mumbled as he took the hand, shaking it slightly. The hare narrowed his eyes in scrutiny. He was just about to reprimand the young otter for his less-than-perfect posture and his inability to treat his elders with respect, but luckily, Urfo intervened.

"Er... Sagewood, this is Brink Brink, Sagewood is a good friend of mine and comes 'round her quite often," he went through the introductions hastily, relieved that they managed to dodge an insult.

"Brink, eh? Last name?" the hare raised an expectant eyebrow, "It's always polite to provide acquaintances with your last name."

"Brink Rufeshodd," the otter replied, squaring his shoulders in a shrug.

"Well, young Master Brink," the hare said in a matter-of-factly tone, "I'm quite certain that Log-a-log Urfo here has asked you a question. I expect you to respect your betters and answer his question." Instantly, Brink clenched his jaws and swallowed dryly before stalking off, leaving the shrew and the hare alone. It was quite obvious that Sagewood was seething at the impudence of the sea otter, for his face turned a pinkish hue and his right eye was twitching.

"Now, see, I don't think that it was the best thing to say to him," the shrew sighed, though his words were wasted, as the hare was already approaching the young sea otter.

"See here!" he said with controlled anger, "Just because your vermin friend turned out to be another cowardly murderer, you don't have to throw a fit! It was to be expected of a fox, after all. And I for one-"

"I don't want to talk about it," Brink snapped as he stomped away. This hare was by far, the _worst_ hare he had ever met- even worse than Colonel Hollin.

"Hmph! I say, didn't his parents ever teach him any manners?" the hare muttered to himself as he glared at the retreating otter, "I'd say he's just as bad as Bartholomelo! Young ones these days! They should all be put to the belt, the lot of them!"

"Well you're not much older yourself, Sagewood," Urfo said pointedly, "And besides, you did come here to talk to your Aunt Linette and Meles, not to insult some poor wounded beast." He never could understand hares and their strict discipline.

"Already done," Sagewood turned to him, now content at the reminder that he'd accomplished yet another task, "I've just given them the greetings and news from Colonel Hollin. The colonel just assumed that they would like to know what was going on back at their old home. After all, Lady Meles's brother has just left for another expedition."

* * *

Brink sighed as he leaned against the abbey's high ramparts. No matter how friendly these abbey beasts were towards him, he couldn't dispel that hollow feeling gnawing inside him. And now with that newfound bitterness and anger added to it, he felt even worse.

He had to admit, when he first heard the news about Keetch's departure, he actually felt some guilt. _Did I make him leave? Did I actually make him feel that bad about himself?_ But those thoughts were clouded by the reminders of what had happened that fateful day... the fight, the pain, being left in the merciless claws of death... Alone.

Brink clenched his fists and cringed at the memory. He pushed his thoughts to some other place- some other time. He was brought back to that dirt path they were walking along, when they were talking about themselves. For a while, it almost seemed to him as if Keetch genuinely cared. He wistfully reminded himself of that childish question game they played.

How long ago was that? It was on that very same day he was betrayed. He felt his heart sink at the revelation. _But why did he do it? Did he really care more about his own life than mine? Would I have done the same for him? Yes... yes I would._

He delved deeper into his memories, remembering their time with Ma Krammel. In his mind, he gave a swift prayer and an apology. _It was my fault she died. If I didn't go after Captain Skeel the way I did... _And then, his mind's eye was back at that small overhang on that rainy day. He was mourning over Ma Krammel's death and it was all his fault. And there was only one creature there to console him... or at least _try_ to.

_"Punishing yourself like this isn't healthy and it won't bring her back. You're going to get sick, and that means that it'll spread to me, so you should get over here," Keetch rummaged through the provisions and produced a scarf and a jacket, "These should keep you warm. Just don't pass your sickness over to me."_

Brink smirked at the irony he saw there. Whenever they were looking out for one another, they always had some excuse. _Didn't we always say that we didn't want to end up dragging some dead carcass around by a chain? But when did we actually start to care? When did that excuse really become empty words? I really did mean it at some point..._

Brink sighed as he let the thoughts roll around in his mind. He knew Keetch was good, he had a lot of good in him, vermin or not. He may have been a coward, but he wasn't evil. He never killed mindlessly or expressed any deep hatred... he was always so level-headed and logical all the time. And now that he thought about it, he knew so little about the snow fox.

_Where did he come from? What was he like before meeting me? Was he evil? Did he kill anybeast?_ Now that he remembered it, Keetch always seemed to dodge any questions about himself. As a matter of fact, he hardly spoke at all. Never laughed. Hardly smiled. So what even made them friends? They were as different as night and day. He closed his eyes as he envisioned the lonely fox, his back to him, his head bent despondently, walking along the dusty road towards the darkness of the unknown.

_He betrayed me, didn't he? Left me for dead when I needed his help. I don't think... I've gotten over it... when can I stop remembering? He wasn't that bad... he wasn't evil at all. So why do I feel like I have to hate him for what he did... or... in this case, what he didn't do? Is it because everybeast has been talking about vermin and how bad they are? They didn't even know him, so why do they hate him? Do I hate him?_

Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw a young mouse headed towards him. He heaved yet another exasperated sigh. He appreciated their concern- really. But he could handle things by himself.

From what he could see, the mouse was younger than him by a year, just around his age when he left home in search of a foolish adventure. There was an outgoing smile on his face and a slight amount of anxiety along with it. Brink had the uneasy feeling that he was going to be forced into another conversation. He sighed inwardly, wishing that the mouse would just wave politely and pass on by.

"Hi there. 'Name's Melo. I'm.. ah... sorry that I didn't get to talk to you sooner. I was busy scrubbin' the floors." He raised his rough paws up as proof, leaning against the rampart walls casually.

"That's fine," Brink replied flatly.

"So you've traveled from beyond Mossflower, eh?" Melo said, deciding that the otter wasn't going to initiate any conversation any time soon. But the sea otter simply nodded. Once. Twice. And remained silent.

"Could you tell me about it? I mean, Tarka only told me a little, but do you think that without Keetch helpin' you, you would have made it all the way here?" Brink cringed inwardly at the name. Whenever that fox's name came up, everybeast would start talking about how he was just another typical vermin. Just listening to the topic would just give him a headache.

"'Cause you see, I'm the future warrior of Redwall. I need to get out of here, to see the world and fight whatever evil faces me," Melo thrust his arms outward, emphasizing the vast woodlands before them. It surprised him how much it reminded him of himself when he was just as excited and naive about the world. But that felt much longer than it really was.

"... And I was thinking... that maybe one of these days when you leave, that I can come with you. I've already studied maps and I have a knack for fighting and weaponry. And I'd _never_ abandon any ally of mine in battle," Melo continued proudly. Instantly, Brink's mood changed from resigned to one of a fiery bitterness. Why does everybeast insist on talking about him all the time?! They don't know him! They never knew him and they never bothered to just let history remain history. Why bring him up? Why talk in front of him? Why salt the wound?

"It's none of your business," he snapped, "Stop talking about him as if you always knew him." For a moment, Melo had a shocked and confused expression on his face before he frowned and let his voice harden.

"It may not be my business, but seeing as you're living in my home, you might as well stop moping around and do something useful in exchange."

"And what favor might that be? Getting rid of a nuicance like you? I'm sure _everybeast_ would agree that I've paid my debt if I could get you out of their paws," the otter replied tightly.

"What's the matter? Upset that you chased your only friend away?" he taunted through gritted teeth.

"That _tears_ it," Brink said stonily as he raised an arm and aimed a punch at Melo's face. Instinctively, the bent his legs and was ready to dodge any blow flying at him. But before either of them could make another move, they heard footsteps on the rampart ladder.

"Scared to get yourself pummeled by me?," Melo sneered, raising his chin in a challenge. Banking on his better judgement, Brink lowered his clenched paw just as Skipper appeared. In unison, Brink and Melo's faces cracked into nervous grins and snapped to casual postures as they faced the big otter.

Skipper walked up to them, seeming a little awkward and unsure of himself. For some reason unknown to him, they seemed quite tense. But then again, they seemed so similar, it was entirely possible that they would become close friends. Perhaps Brink was just telling him about Keetch? It seemed logical, since the sea otter would turn quite stoic and hard whenever the topic came about.

Brink and Melo stood straight in his presence, curious about his sudden appearance. He was supposed to be back at the holt today, after all.

"Hey there Skipp," Melo gave a mock salute. But the big otter ignored the gesture and cleared his throat.

"Melo, could you please leave me alone with Brink?" he asked. Melo seemed unsure at first, but in the end, he nodded hesitantly. Casting a sneer only visible to Brink, he walked away, checking over his shoulder consistently, hoping he could catch at least some small snippets of the conversation. Once he was gone, Skipper instigated the conversation.

"So how do you like this place?"

"I like this place," Brink answered slowly, hoping his previous mood wasn't showing, "It's huge- the biggest building I've ever seen. And everybeast is friendly and happy, and they've been very kind to me."

"Good, good," Skipper Raller nodded, "Because, there's been something I've been meaning to ask you lately."

"Really? What?" Brink asked eagerly.

"I've... well, the crew and I've been wondering, would you like to stay with us here? Would you like to put an end to your travels and call this place your home?" he asked, seeming to be a little embarraced.

Honestly, Brink certainly wasn't expecting something like this. Before, he wasn't yet sure of when he would leave, where he would go, or what he would do. Just when would he put an end to all this wandering? What could he possibly gain, not having any roots anywhere or being around anything familiar, always to be a stranger to the world around him?

He had friends here... and one enemy, but still...

Slowly, Brink let a weary smile spread on his face.

"I guess I'll stay for a little while longer."

* * *

Elsewhere, off to the west in some destitute cave, Keetch was in the middle of his first lesson. He had gotten very little sleep last night- largely due to the icy cold and the stench of decaying flesh mingled with the sweeter tang of drying herbs.

"Watch carefully," his master, Grack instructed as she sifted through a jumble of odd trinkets, "These instruments of foresight are ancient and are extremely useful, yes." Slowly, she unearthed a small wooden box with cryptic symbols etched all over the surface.

"It's a sacred artifact from the origin of the Juska Tribes," she said as she carefully opened it. Keetch leaned as close as close to the fox as he dared, peering over the vixen's shoulder. He had expected some treaures, gems, or a beautiful dagger. Instead, what he saw were an array of bones, each one engraved with its own unique sets of symbols.

"They might not look like much, yes," the old vixen said, "But they are relics as old as the origins of the Juska." With all the gentleness and care her shaky paws could muster, she removed them from their dusty hold and spread them out onto the floor. Then, in the dirt, she drew a circle around them, encanting charms and garbled words that Keetch could not decifer. Finally she finished speaking and looked up at him.

"So, young apprentice, these bones only work in the dead of night when the moon looks but like a claw hanging in the sky. And when these conditions are met, one more thing is needed... innocent blood, yes," she gave him a small, toothless smile before letting her sharp voice cut into the air, "Slave! Get over here!" With a sickening jolt, the snow fox realized that the little rabbit wasn't necessarily here for labor. She was here for more demonic purposes.

The dibbun appeared, looking very frightened and unsure. As she walked past him with a slight bow of her head, Keetch noticed the shallow scars running along her body. The kneeling vixen held her arms out, her palm facing upward, expecting something. Shakily, the slave held her arm out and placed her wrist on the open palm.

"Good, good," Grack pulled a short dagger from her ragged robe. The slave winced as the knife pressed itself against her fur. Keetch, feeling uneasy about the entire situation, looked away.

_"This is what I have to do to be stronger. This is what I have to do to be useful... to be powerful... to make up for everything..." _he said to himself, hoping that it was enough to convince him. He heard a small gasp and a tiny splatter. He looked back to them and saw the rabbit clutching at the thin cut on her forearm. And Grack, his master, was still kneeling on the ground, watching the small sprinkles droplets of blood pool into the bones' tiny symbols.

"By reading which marks that have become emboldened by the innocent blood, we can read the more accurate signs, since Fate is so unpredictable and cryptic," she rasped, "But remember, this can only be done when the moon is but a sliver in the sky, yes. They're more accurate, yet we cannot _command_ what Fate reveals to us. All we have in our power is to _ask_ for answers and hope that Fate answers us. We only read what we see." Keetch nodded furtively, wondering what else she had to say.

"... Hnnn... the signs look good for you, my apprentice. It seems that you will learn well in the ways of the seer- even more so than I. A great potential, indeed!" she paused as a small droplet of blood dripped from the edge of a bone and landed on a starling skull, the symbol on its forehead blazing crimson red. Sensing the tense atmosphere, Keetch leaned closer to see what it was. It didn't seem quite important to him, only a Θ

"What does it mean?" Keetch asked, almost in a whisper.

"It means... it means that you're being watched by some guiding spirit. Who, I cannot say," the vixen said as she closed her almost-useless eyes. Keetch instantly drew his mind back to those dreams, that tapestry, and finally, that mouse with that kind and noble face. _Are you the one? Why did you make me come all this way over here as a traitor? Why did you lead me away from whatever little I wanted in life?_ He clenched his fists tightly at the memory.

"Is it... normal for seers?" he swallowed dryly.

"No," she replied softly, "But that's a good thing, yes. An advantage for you in the days of war to follow." Without another word, she produced another small box from her sleeves.

"You slave, tend the fire!" she ordered the rabbit. Nodding, the slave left for firewood, her leash trailing behind her. The vixen's gnarled face turned to him in a half-smile.

"Your initiation is about to begin. Be patient." The slave was back, this time with an armful of wood. Carefully, she fed the hungry fire, watching it strengthen and glow brighter, small embers crackling and floating into the air like spirits.

"Keetch, do you vow, as my apprentice, to be completely devoted to the arduous task of the seer?" the vixen's voiced crackled along with the fire.

"Yes."

"And do you vow to me, your master, that under pain of death, you will fulfill my wish and destroy Redwall?"

Keetch closed his eyes, seeing the faces of his friends in his mind's eye. How happy they seemed. Under any other circumstance, he might have smiled. He would get quite a position in an army's ranks if he could be of greater service. Any vermin army would kill to have him on their side. _Power. _That was what he always wanted, wasn't it?

Besides, what if Redwall lost? Do they actually have a chance in defeating hordes without him? Why not just leave them alone to their fate? It wouldn't be his fault if he were never involved, right? Keetch cringed slightly at the thought. They were familiar thoughts... similar to the thoughts he had while he had betrayed Brink...

But he had already made a solid oath, one that echoed in his mind clearly as his other thoughts raced through his head...

_"Brink, there's something I have to tell you... I'm sorry... so, so sorry... I swear, I would never do anything to hurt you ever again..."_

Of course, Redwall wasn't Brink, but still... if he cared about Brink, he had to care about everything that Brink loves... didn't he? Brink had connections to Redwall, to destroy that would cause him sadness, yet another one of pain's many forms. With a slow breath, Keetch made his decision.

"I swear, under pain of death, that I will make Redwall fall," he lied.

"_Those words are just words... nothing more. I mean nothing by them,"_ he reminded himself, trying to break free from all guilt. But it seemd to him as if the oath was already binding. Was that just the vermin side of him making him feel so cold and heartless?

Grack opened the lid to the small box, revealing a small jar of blood-red paint and another, smaller jar of ash. Her gnarled, tattooed face glowed and her eyes shone in eager greed by the firelight, and for a moment, Keetch thought that he was in the fiery underworld itself, haggling his life with the gatekeeper.

"Then you shall be my apprentice. May you forever cut out the worthless, greedy feelings in your heart and always see with a calm, cunning mind," with that, she dipped her paw in the red ink and, with a slashing motion, drew a jagged, diagonal line on his chest where his heart would be, "May this tattoo forever close your heart from all those illusions"

"And may the ashes of the Juskarok seers before me share in their knowledge and experience, and give you strength," dabbing her thumb in the ashes, she smeared an arc on his forehead.

"It is done," she rasped, "It is done..."

* * *

Now, if you could float over the blue-white marble in the starlight darkness that we call "Earth"- like the some god or spirit, you would instantly see a stark, bone-white mass resting at the very top. Now close in on that spot and you shall feel the biting chill against your face as you peer into that glacial, lonely world. But the barren landscape isn't the same throughout. Just at the Northernmost corner, do you see that spot of green?

That's the Northern Evergreen region, where the trees stand tall, ancient, and proud, showered with powdery snow. But that isn't the focus at the moment. Instead, look just a little farther South. Float just a little closer, past the chilled clouds and you shall notice something.

See that gray splotch surrounded in a sea of white? Come closer and you will see that it is no illusion or a gigantic lake- but a kingdom- Greymorg. How unfortunate for you that the first thing of actual magnificence that you will see in this once-beautiful landscape is actually the epitome of death and misery itself. But I suppose it cannot be helped, for now we must delve deeper into this hopeless world I've introduced to you...

The kingdom, with its giant grey walls encloses a large space of land scores and scores bigger than the Redwall Abbey that you are so familiar with. A vast majority of the area was once farmland, now turning gray as the deathly winter approaches. To the Western corner is the largest slave compound, shacks and mud huts in dire need of repair for the poor, broken souls residing there.

The Southern areas house its strict military, where the vermin flocked to for an easy meal and hopes of war and slaughter. There they receive their battle training, becoming slavers, soldiers, or royal guards. And filling in all that space within the walls are small buildings, a few scattered slave compounds for more convenient distributions, and some simple housings for the vermin inhabitants.

And in the very center of it all stands a great castle, jutting out of the city like a decayed tooth. Welcome to the royal castle. Venture inside its forbidden walls and see...

* * *

"Hm... not quite right..." a weasel leaned closer to one of his many mirrors, "It's so hard to choose..." Beside him were beautifully adorned crowns, each one different and glistening flawlessly in the lavish, brightly-lit room. Carefully, he fitted each of those ornaments on his head.

"Comfortable, yet too fluffy... this one needs to be polished... this one's beautiful, but the gold is a little cold to the touch... I wear this one much too often... now this one is quite suitable for the occasion but doesn't quite match my outfit... oh bother, I might have to do with no crown at all..." He cupped his chin with his paw, signifying that he was deep in thought.

"Sire, if I may say so myself, you look quite dashing either way," a rat servant bowed to him exaltingly. He would instantly regret that, for the weasel instantly wheeled upon him, his eyes blazing.

"Did _I_ say you could _talk_?" he shouted, "For your insubordination, you shall get 50 lashings- by _me_!"

"Your Majesty, Prince Ragnar, _please_! I beg for your forgiveness. I shall not make the same mistake again," the rat got on his knees and pressed his forehead to the ground. He knew how merciless His Highness could be, yet he still clung on to hope. To his relief, the weasel straightened his posture and brought himself back to his composure.

"Fine, I suppose it was just a complement so I'll be lenient this time," he sniffed haughtily, smiling as the unfortunate rat sighed in relief.

"I'll reduce it to 49 lashings then," he continued, inspecting his claws nonchalantly, "Guards, take him away."

"B-b-b-b-but..." the rat stuttered as the guards grabbed him by each arm and dragged him out of the room. Prince Ragnar couldn't help but laugh at his own little joke. Oh, he would have fun torturing that one. He couldn't wait for that, but for now, he had more attention matters to attend to.

"Hmmm... how about this crown... no, no, too plain..."

_Bang!_

Ragnar flinched at the sound of his double-doors being kicked open. Of course, few beings can ever interrupt his thoughts and get away with it.

"What are you doing here?!" the intruder shouted, "She has been demanding to see you for ages!" And even _fewer_ beasts can address him in this way.

"Calm down, dearest little brother," he smirked, glancing at him by the mirror's reflection, "I shall be there in a minute. I would have come sooner if I didn't have to dispatch yet another insolent servant."

"Stop wasting time," the weasel snapped as he paced the room angrily, "Queen Narsca won't let anybeast near her except for _us_. Her condition's getting steadily worse and all day I've been standing at her side while she spends her time screeching for _you_!"

"Yes, yes, I'll be right there," Ragnar sighed, "And go get some rest, Thanatos. You work _far_ too hard to get attention."

"What's that supposed to mean?!" the younger weasel roared, but the Crown Prince was already on his way down, his purple cloak swirling behind him.

With his head held high, Ragnar trounced down the steps with relative grace, casting sidelong glances at his minions that saluted or bowed to him, showering him with the graces that were his birthright.

"Your Radiance."

"Your Majesty."

"Your Highness."

But he passed them all by as he walked down the cold hallway, the servants and soldiers parting from his path as if touching him could possibly burn them. Down the dimly-lit halls he went, passing the faded war flags, through the heavy double doors, up the stone spiral stairs, and through a metal-plated door. Upon seeing him, the guards quailed as he strode past, not even bothering to knock before he entered.

Queen Narca's room was highly-furnished, selfishly keeping beauty out of the rest of Greymorg's reach. There, lying between a feathered bed and mounds of quilt, was a withered old weasel. She lifted her head to inspect the new-comer and her eyes shone with relief and something not unlike love.

"Finally you've come to visit," she croaked irritably.

"Yes Mother," the handsome weasel replied, standing beside her bed, sliding his paws in his pockets, "I'm sorry, but my royal duties have kept me busy for so long I just had no time to spare." The queen smiled in response.

"You're working too hard, Ragnar, like you always do. I wish that worthless Thanatos could show such promise and dedication. Practice your weaponry, your battle tactics, and be a powerful, ruthless leader. But I'm sure you've already accomplished that while I remain bedridden here."

"Well I am the first-born. And perhaps maybe Thanatos will find his place as my right hand someday... once he actually does something useful for once," he grinned, "But please Mother, get some rest. I can't rule without you to give me advice." Carefully, with as little motion as possible, he twisted the cap off the small vial he clutched in his paw.

"Yes, yes," she nodded, closing her eyes, "You have a lot of work ahead of you, fulfilling the goals and plans our ancestors have left behind for us."

"Indeed," Ragnar muttered. From the corners of his eyes, he watched the oblivious, ill figure on the bed. He then eyed the bowl of broth cooling on her bedstand. He flashed a sadistic grin, congratulating himself for his cunning and deception. Without a second thought, he pulled the small bottle out of his pocket, and with a small flick of the wrist, he emptied whatever was left of its contents into the meal.

"Farewell Mother," he whispered as he closed the door behind him. Indeed he was busy, for now he had an oncoming funeral to plan.

* * *

Meanwhile, Prince Thanatos was on his own agenda. Clad in the silver armor of Graymorg royalty and equipped with his sword, he strode past the squalid construction area that his brother often visited. The slaves, sickly and uneducated as they were, had enough intelligence in them to avoid him at all costs. Even the slavers ceased their cruel punishments to salute to him.

He nodded at them to continue their work and the vermin happily obliged. According to the reports, it would not be long now until an extension to Castle Greymorg was built. He kept in mind that he still had yet to discuss the division of slave labor with his brother. After all, with winter coming upon them, they shouldn't be wasting time with this unnecessary project when they should be reaping the last of the harvests.

Once he entered the East Wing, the doors closed behind him, more soldiers saluting him. He had no time for this. He was already late. He walked briskly through the halls, passing the torches that threatened to burn out. He felt a presence come in step from behind him, yet he didn't need to glance behind to see who it was.

"Reun, have the others arrived?" he asked the other weasel.

"M'Lord, Commander Dagmor has already started," she stated.

"What?!" he growled dangerously, "That fool will pay for his insolence one day." Instantly, he picked up his speed, Reun following closely behind. He didn't even pause as he shoved the door open, hearing the conversations in the War Room halt at his entrance.

Finally, somebeast spoke up.

"Ah, how nice of you to show up late, Ice General," a stoat said with an edge as he locked his fingers together and leaned forward on the table.

"If the War Meeting can't start without me, then I can never be late, now can I?" Thanatos stated, narrowing his eyes. With rage, he caught the sneer Commander Dagmor cast his way. Being a prince, it was well within the margins of his power to have the stoat beheaded, but for now, he shall spare him. He was a powerful asset in his future plans and his vast experience was unreplacable.

"My Prince, Commander, I believe that now is the time to discuss our war plans instead of trading insults," a deep voice advised. Thanatos switched his attention to the figure sitting across from him. It was none other than the silver wolf, High-Captain Fenris.

With all the grace he could muster, he took his seat at the table. He glanced sideways as Reun took her seat beside him, a nervous, yet determined look on her face. Obviously the little spat he had with Dagmor hadn't done anything to assuage her worries.

He scanned the room to see if every officer had come as ordered. Yes, he was already aware of Colonel Dagmor's presence, and there was High-Captain Fenris, Kavar the wolverine, Miska, Ripfang, Sharpkill, Mangefur, Havik, Sigma the Soothsayer, and more. He cleared his throat loudly, demanding that nobeast interrupt him.

"After putting all the scouting reports into consideration, I have decided that I agree with Fenris," he said, his voice ringing clear and unwavering, "He had already scouted the area thoroughly and kept watch of its inhabitants seasons ago. And up until now we have already gathered enough information from lands all around our territory. Greymorg will expand its reaches to the place with the biggest area, most fertile land, treaures, castles, potential slaves, resources, and least resistance possible.

"Putting all these qualities in mind, it was no easy task to decide on only one location. But after consulting High-Captain Fenris and Lieutenant Reun, I've finally decided our next great addition to Greymorg," with that, he drew a short dagger, stabbing the blade deep into the map stretched on the table. The rest of the vermin leaned forward, eager to learn of their destination.

"We send our troops at the beginning of summer, when our crop supply is stable and when travel is easiest," the royal general continued, not losing a note of confidence, "Remember that my brother has our key to victory in his paws. With that, victory is guaranteed, I can promise you that!"

The first whispers came softly but once everybeast was certain that the Ice General was done talking, the whole room was filled with talk of war and plans. From what Thanatos could hear, none of his subjects seemed dissatisfied with his decision. And even better, Sigma, the Soothsayer of Greymorg, had no objections. After all, who could deny that Fenris's scouting reports gave the information that depicted some sort of paradise? He sent a smug look at his old mentor's direction, but Commander Dagmor merely shrugged at the gesture. It seemed as though he had the potential of a warlord after all.

And on the table, the scrawled, yellowed parchement gave an image of the world surrounding them. From the Northern Evergreens, to the island seas of the West, beyond the Cragg mountains of the East, and to the South as far as some country called Southsward. And there, a blade jutted out of the table, Greymorg's emblem, Ψ glinting on its hilt. And under that dagger, the spidery lines read two words: _"Redwall Abbey"_.

* * *

**Summary for Keetch Segment: Basically, through some ancient soothsaying instruments, Grack has foretold that some force is overseeing Keetch, which is unusual, but advantegeous. Keetch thinks that it's Martin the Warrior, since he's been in his dreams, though he still seems to be holding the mouse with some contempt. Grack makes him go through vows and at one point, Keetch hesitates about destroying Redwall. But he remembers the oath he made to Brink in Chapter 23. He also remembers all the kindness he's experienced with him and the Redwallers. With that in mind, he swears either way, keeping in mind that he's only lying and that he will help Redwall. Then Grack gives him the proper rites for his initiation, creating a long, slash-like tattoo over his chest where his heart should be and smearing his forehead with ash. She tells him that this symbolizes how a seer should cut out his worthless feelings for a cunning mind. The ash is actually the ash from the seers of the past and it symbolizes their experience and wisdom becoming his. Of course, these are just incantations. **

**Author Commentary**

**The main villains are in introduced in this chapter FINALLY! Hmmm... what is their "key to victory" anywasy? What do you think about them? I hope their evilness compensates for their belated entrance. And what did you think about the narrative where it felt as if I were personally talking to you while you had that imagery of yourself overlooking the landscape in an eagle-eye view? I thought that was pretty cool, but I kinda copied that from Predator's Gold by Philip Reeve (he's such a good author).**

**And as for the Character Ages: **

**Prince Ragnar: 26**

**Prince/General Thanatos (pronounced Thah-nah-toes): 24**

**Queen Narsca: old**

**Fenris: 35-ish**

**Reun (pronounced "Roon"): 24**

**Commander Dagmor: mid-40's**

**Sigma: mid-50's**

**Sagewood Thatcher: 27**

**Grack's Slave (unnamed): 5**

**The name Ragnar comes from the word "Ragnarok", the apocolypse in Norse Mythology. And Thanatos is the Greek personification of Death in Greek mythology. And Fenris is the name of the wolf that was supposed to swallow Odin whole and kill a couple Norse gods (supposed to do this during the Ragnarok). Haha, my Mythology teacher would be so proud :D And Reun is a girl, just to tell you. More about the bad guys will be revealed in future chapters.**

**Sagewood Thatcher isn't really a new character, just an unseen one. He's been mentioned in several previous chapters, only in brief snippets of conversations though. He's just another pompous hare, isnt' he? ;) I like his name, by the way.**

**Do you recognize Fenris from anywhere? Hmmmm... let's see who's been paying attention. Feel free to mention it in a review. (Note: If you feel upset about Fenris, just read on. I promise you things would get better).**

**And as for Brink, he's really just in this whole "I know he's not evil, but I dislike him" kind of attitude about Keetch. And although he's in denial, notice how he hates it when everyone starts bashing his ex-BFF. And poor Melo, I always thought they would be good friends since they're alike in many ways, yet they got off on the wrong foot. :( And notice that when Brink compares himself to Melo, he considers himself somewhat wiser. I wonder if that's really the case?**

**Keetch made some progress, planning to go on Redwall's side. Notice that he's determined to save Redwall and be a goodbeast, yet his morals aren't necessarily set in the right place, since he considers the rabbit's slavery to be necessary for things to happen according to his plan. I guess that adds extra depth, since he seems to feel loyalty only to those who showed him kindness (at least he has loyalty). And that just shows that he still has a lot of character development to go through.**

**Also, notice that I made the tattoos more like "paint" rather than ink injected through the skin. I noticed that little detail in Taggerung when Tagg was getting his tattoo. I didn't feel like describing the excrutiating pain of tattoos in this chapter so I made it something lame like "Permenant paint".**

**SATURDAY'S MY BIRTHDAY SO PLEASE JUST GIVE ME A LITTLE "BIRTHDAY PRESENT" BY REVIEWING. Any comments, constructive criticism, suggestions, questions, etc. are welcome. I love hearing from you guys and these feedbacks really are useful so please review.**

**P.S. Was the seer part a little too dark? Please give me your honest opinion. It's a little... controversial...? **

**P.S.S. To pursue my dreams of drawing fanart, I might take a 2-3 week break. I just want to try drawing fanart. I'll continue my other fanfiction and I'll give this one a rest. Unless I give up immediately with Photoshop (which isn't likely to happen), I'll get the next chapter up by next weekend. **

**If anyone has any experience with fanfart and can give me advice, please send me a message.**


	27. Two Seasons Later

**Special thanks to those who reviewed the last chapter: MangaHottie740, DPBCLover, Fwirl of Redwall, I.HAVE.A.PERSONALITY.DISORDER, Zinachu, Foeseeker, AwsomeWriter123, Jarrtail, Adderstar of Valorclan, FoxStar24, Reynoi, SilverZeo, Martin the Warrior (anonymous), Red Squirrel Writer, and Cinnamonpool. **

**This chapter, as you would have guessed from the Chapter Title is a time-skip chapter. Yes, I put a time-skip in here. This chapter is mainly for setting up the story and it's pretty much filler on Brink's segments, though it has a few of his thoughts and his oddities. Yep, there's more character development. Keetch's section really isn't filler so you really should read that.**

* * *

**Two Seasons Later**

* * *

_Please disregard the food stains all over this parchment as I write all of this. It seems as though the number one rule of the recorder slipped my mind: don't defile the records. Ah well, this isn't another major entry, just more ramblings about the abbey's going-ons. Lately, everybeast has been busy preparing for this Spring's naming feast. _

_Now, being the official Recorder of Redwall Abbey, I've been given a secret preview of the name. I'll just say it right here. After all, nobeast is going to read this until much, much later, probably to reminisce about the by-gone days. Abbess Linette has told me it's to be called the Spring of Flight. Well I can easily see where the name derived from._

_Just over the winter, we had an unexpected long-term visitor. It was a blue jay that had lost its way in the winter's storms and broke its wing. Well, Jeeter (that was his name) stayed with us all through winter and he was able to fly again by the time spring started. _

_Anyways, I personally can't wait until the feast starts. From what I've heard, Sarrow Longshot is going to attend it. I haven't seen her for nearly a season and I wonder what wonderful stories she'll regale us with his time. And Skipper and the crew are going to be there, as always. I must admit, Skipper has seemed down ever since I moved out of the holt and stayed here, but I'm sure he'll get over it once the feast has started._

_So now I must go, for it's already the afternoon and I've promised Melo I'd go fishing with him._

_Recorder of Redwall Abbey,  
Tarka_

* * *

The sun's rays warmed the glowing green atmosphere, its light peeking from the flourishing summer leaves as a muscular young otter slipped his footpaws in the calm stream. He was quite far from the rest of the holt, but he didn't seem to care or worry about any potential dangers in Mossflower Wood. He had taken these afternoon walks more often, letting his thoughts wander as he walked. He found it soothing to do this, being all by himself and able to hear himself think.

It had been nearly two seasons since he'd made the holt his home. He had changed quite a bit during that time, as he was now several inches taller, stronger, faster, and he now had a tattoo of a vicious pike on his right arm. However, these were only physical growths and the same couldn't be said for much of anything else- especially social growth.

He enjoyed the company he shared and all the wonderful feasts, but for some reason, he just couldn't seem to settle properly. He knew it, and so did the river otters, for when he was struggling, they would say "It's alright. Give it some time." Even today they still used those same reassuring words.

_How long would it take me just to be completely comfortable here?_ He remembered those first few days and how they were full of merriment and laughter. There were plenty of feasts, for Redwall had plenty of food to spare. And then there were the training sessions he enjoyed. At first, those sessions of weaponry were powerful outlets that allowed him a connection to the others.

He treated it as a social gathering of sorts, where he would be able to spend time with them and not have to feel awkward about it. And that was the only place he truly felt he belonged. But besides those training sessions, he couldn't seem to engage in a proper conversation with them, whether it was fishing, hiking, or at a feast. Any conversation with them at that point wouldn't get very far and would only drop at an awkward note.

Eventually, he began immersing himself in his only outlet- the art of fighting. Whether it was swordplay, archery, knife-throwing, or sling-throwing, he became quite sharp and well-rounded in varying skills. Of course, he was only at a standard level with most of them, yet he found that his true prowess was in the use of daggers and javelins. But despite his progressing abilities, his fierce dedication to weaponry only estranged him further, as a lot of the holt jumped to the conclusion that he was aggressive or violent.

Sometimes some members of th holt would watch him anonymously as he trained alone, but he didn't mind. Instead of taking their curious glances to heart and letting them fester, he would lash his dagger out at a target with deadly precision, repeating the practices with every ounce of the frustration boiling inside him. Only then would he feel at peace with himself. It was his outlet, the only place he fully felt comfortable with, his sanctuary from the rest of them. And however much he liked the otters or their easy-going lifestyle, he still felt as if something vital was missing.

He recalled the traveler's path, how he had met with death face to face and the perilous battles that had taken place. He remembered relishing the thought of the surprises that the next day would bring- the feelings that one must go through all that life would throw at you. He was living a soft life now and he wistfully pondered at what adventures lay in wait past that distant horizon.

And how could he ever forget the strange companionship he had with one particular snow fox... they shared the greatest of adventures, although Keetch had done so unwillingly. But they got through them all and they met many beasts and sights along the way. Feeling the cooling breeze against his face, Brink looked up at the wispy clouds, breathing in the warmth as he listened to the harmony of birdsongs.

_I wonder where he is now? Half way around the world by now, probably. I wonder what he's doing with his life... what am I doing with my life? I have so many friends but I feel so... "sick" isn't the right word for it... Sometimes I wonder if things could have been different. As time passes me by here, I have more time to think about things over and over again. I wonder where he is now though?_

"Brink! Brink!" a familiar voice called in the distance. In a moment, Jolin was rushing towards him, cheerful as always.

"There you are! What are you doing here all by yourself, silly?" she smiled as she held up a basket covered by a cloth.

"I was just thinking," he answered with a shrug. She tilted her head to the side, her expression puzzled.

"You've been acting strange lately, Brink. You alright?"

"What's in the basket?" he asked, trying to change the subject. That seemed to do the trick.

"Hm? Oh this? I've been working on it for a while now," she put a mischievious grin on her face, "You do know what day it is today, don't you?"

"Uh... no," he said flatly. He sighed inwardly. He was friends with Jolin, but sometimes she just wouldn't leave him alone. He appreciated her friendliness, but she always tried too hard to coax a conversation out of him. He liked to keep his thoughts to himself. Plus, he hated the smiles everybeast sent his way whenever she was near him. It made him feel so awkward to the point where he would blush, sending onlookers into fits of giggles- especially the girls.

"Come on, you've got to think harder," she teased in a sing-song voice.

"No."

"Aw... you're no fun," she whined playfully before switching to an excited tone, "Well I'll tell you anyways. Today's almost the anniversary of your arrival here! Surprise!" She shot her arm out, offering her gift with a flourish.

"But it's not that day yet," Brink said uneasily as he accepted the gift.

"I know," she said with an airy peal of laughter, "But you'd expect something on that day. I wanted to make it a surprise, so I planned it on a different day. Now open it, open it!"

"Er... thank you..." he forced a smile as he uncovered the basket, "It's a..."

"I'll give you a hint," she took it out of his paws, knelt down, and set its contents on the dry ground methodically, "A tablecloth, some plates and forks, napkins, a deeper'n'ever pie, two flasks of strawberry fizz, plum pudding, and the biggest, reddest strawberries in all of Mossflower," she looked up at him expectantly, "Know what it is yet?" Brink scratched his head in contemplation.

"... Food...?"

"For...?" she said, rotating her paw in indication that his thoughts should follow up with more words.

"Erm... Eatin'...?"

"Ugh..." she sighed in a slightly irritated fashion before putting on her smile, "For a _picnic_ Brink. It's so obvious, sometimes I wonder if anything goes through that mind of yours." Never one to be insulted, Brink set his face set into a stubborn, indignant look. Jolin caught it and immediately guided his moods from falling into another sulky, brooding episode.

"I was just kidding," she giggled as she offered him a flask, "Come on. I made it just for us."

"Well, um... alright," he said awkwardly as he sat in the grass.

"Now I know that you dislike shrimp'n'hotroot soup, so I made other things," she continued her light speech, "So I decided that a beautiful summer's day could use for a bit of sweet, cooling food... something more like dessert."

"Thank you," he nibbled at a single strawberry tentatively, remembering his little tangle with that sickening concoction and Sarrow Longshot.

* * *

**_Flashback_**

_It had been during the feast that winter... the Naming Feast, they called it. Many creatures showed up and Brink was astounded by their sheer numbers. Most of them were introduced to be residents of Mossflower. He had no idea that so many creatures lived in one woodland. It certainly didn't appear to be that big. And sometimes, he would bump into one or two sea otters that had arrived simply for the special occasion. It seemed as though the existence of Redwall Abbey was common knowledge even in areas outside of Mossflower Country._

_And one of the creatures he remembered best just happened to be Sarrow Longshot, the "Prime Archer". He was highly impressed by her skills in archery and he greatly respected the fact that she had a sense of adventure equal to his own. She was always the one with the highest spirits and was very talkative. And she always talked about her adventures with her parents and what she saw, met, learned, etc. Everybeast, especially Melo loved to hear what she had to say._

_That day, Brink had made it his goal to sit next to her so they could swap their stories over supper. It was certainly something he looked forward to, considering his insatiable appetite for adventure and all things exciting. But unlike Melo, Tarka, and the rest of the abbeybeasts, he wasn't aware of her somewhat overly-mischievous behavior._

_It had all gone as planned. Tarka, who usually sat next to the squirrelmaid consented to Brink's polite request to take his place and he was now sitting with the daughter of Redwall's best-known travellers. She was even more amazing up close- she even showed him her weapon! "Silversplice" she called it. It was a fitting name for something so sharp and unique- a strong, dependable bow with leaf-shaped knives on both ends- usable for both long-range and close-range combat._

_But then things went awry when the soup was served as an appetizer. Most beasts would turn their noses at that boiling broth that made their eyes water profusely and compel them to make a mad dash for cooling water. Otters, on the other hand, recognized the spicy soup as a delicacy of sorts. The spicier, the better._

_Although Sarrow was no otter, she took great pleasure in slurping up the shrimp'n'hotroot soup and holding contests with Tarka and Melo. Of course, given Tarka's quiet and mature nature, he turned the requests down politely, leaving Melo pitted against the gregarious squirrel. Few could predict the winner, for they both chugged the soup directly from the bowl as the onlookers cheered raucously. _

_And when Melo gained his victory over the event, Sarrow sought other potential challengers. She wouldn't give up until she had beaten at least one willing beast. And being that she had never faced up against Brink, she turned to him. Despite the shouts of encouragement from the otter crew, Brink quickly declined for his own private reasons._

_"Aw... come on... please?" she pleaded, "It'll be fun." __But Brink was adamant about his decision, oblivious to the fact that his decision had intrigued the impish squirrelmaid. _

_"Alright then," she relented, casting a sideways glance in Melo's direction. The young mouse instantly caught her drift and assumed his role._

_"Brink!" the mouse yelled above the crowd, "You have a little something stuck between your teeth."_

_"My teeth?" Brink asked as he moved his tongue in his mouth, "Mmmmmm. Is it gone now?" He opened his mouth wide for inspection. Seizing her chance, Sarrow crammed a spoonful of the tear-jerking liquid into her target. It was a bulls-eye, and Brink choked back the concoction, sending the spoon cluttering to the floor as he inhaled deeply. Everybeast at the table started roaring with laughter, but their hilarity died as they noticed something was wrong._

_"Brink? Brink! It was just a joke! What's wrong?!"_

_The sea otter fell off his chair and was now on his knees, gasping for breath and speaking in strained croaks. Everybeast was in a panic as the entire ottercrew leapt up and rushed him to the Infirmary. He remembered hectic voices and foul-tasting medicine being jammed into his mouth. The next thing he knew, he was lying in the Infirmary bed as good as new._

_From what he had heard, Sarrow and Melo were in deep trouble for their little prank- their most serious one yet. Of course, that didn't help to lessen the load between Melo and him. And that was the second time he had to be rushed to the Infirmary in one season. He was determined that it would be his last visit for the rest of his life._

* * *

"Hellooooo," his thoughts were brought back to the present by the image of a paw waving in front of his face.

"Huh?"

"Are you sure you're alright, Brink?" Jolin asked worriedly, "You've been doing this a lot lately."

"I'm fine," he insisted as he took a healthy bite of pie. She gave him a teasing look.

"You were thinking about that incident again, weren't you?"

"Well the last time I had shrimp'n'hotroot soup, it nearly killed me!" the sea otter waved his arms erratically in the air to emphasize his point. She giggled at the rare antic.

"Honestly Mister Brink Rufeshodd, traveler of Mossflower, nobody could have known you were _allergic_ to pepper," she smirked playfully, "You should have told us in the first place instead of keeping it all to yourself. Every otter in the holt thought you were odd for shunning a favorite otter treat."

"I like to keep my weaknesses to myself," he mumbled. Jolin smiled inwardly. That was one more odd thing she loved about Brink; he always played some mysterious hero or something rather than just another carefree, jovial otter. But she changed the subject, knowing that it wouldn't get much farther than that.

"So how do you like the food?"

"It's delicious," he answered simply, lacking the relish she expected. Unfortunately for her, some other beast was going to show full appreciation for her efforts.

"Dessert in the afternoon?! Can I join in?" Jolin cringed at the sound of that familiar voice.

"No, so go away Rosco," she folded her arms across her chest crossly, "You weren't invited." But her older brother remained unfazed by her response.

"Oh well, inviting me probably just slipped your mind," he chuckled as he sat next to the pair, "But I'll overlook that little mistake." As he took a slice of pie, he ignored the glare his little sister sent him, grinning inwardly as he kept up his innocent facade.

"So what's all this for?"

"This is a special present for Brink, and Brink _only_," she sourly.

"_Really now_?" the otter laughed as he winked and nudged the oblivious sea otter with his elbow.

"You're so lucky that Jolin cares so much about you," he continued, "She never really does anything like this for anybeast, including _me_."

"Rosco! You're annoying! Don't you have something to do? Something _productive_?" she argued fiercly, trying to conceal her blushing face with anger. And then at that moment, Brink decided to escape from the awkward scene.

"Ummm... thank you for the picnic Jolin, but uh... I'll be going that way now," he pointed to his right in indication and walked off hurriedly. He couldn't help but overhear Jolin's frustrated shouts as she berated her brother.

"Now see what you did?! Everything was fine until you ruined it!" she sulked.

"Well he wasn't really eating any of it. Besides, this is what big brothers do. It's our job!" he replied in defense. And then there was the sound of a vicious _whack!_ followed by a pained "Yowch! What was'at fer?"

Brink couldn't help but chuckle at their antics. It was the classic sibling relationship. Wistfully, he recalled his own little sister. _I wonder how Cora is? How big has my little sister grown since I left? It's been two and a half seasons since I last saw her, so she should be quite tall by now. And I bet she got prettier too. It's too bad I never got a chance to tease her as throroughly as Rosco._

And his smile faded with the sad realization that he would have to leave his home if he was ever to see his family again. He couldn't live in both places. He sighed deeply as the prospects of returning to the traveler's life tugged at his mind once more.

* * *

Away in the southwestern regions of Mossflower, a lone figure was bent at the river's edge, hauling something out of the shallow waters. Carefully straightening his back as he tied the the last knot on the netting, the fox wiped his brow with the back of his paw. He had thin brown fur and a tall, skinny frame, adding to his lanky appearance.

His job done, he then swung the net over his shoulder, making an effort to ignore the sickly scent of fish. But repulsive or not, he was grateful that food was plentiful this season, for the winter was hard on him as there was hardly any food to go around. Most creatures would have harvested and stored whatever they could find prior to the cold weather. However, because of his master's old age, she only had the oldest, most foul-tasting food left for use.

He made his way towards his "home", careful to avoid the main roads. He didn't want anybeast to suspect his activities and put their noses where they didn't belong. It was his business and he didn't want anybeast butting in to his life just yet. As he was approaching the dark underworld that he knew as a cave, he heard the raspy breathing of old Grack.

Her health had been deteriorating rapidly and her voice had become even more coarse. Some would consider it a miracle that she even survived the winter, let alone spring as well. And it wasn't just her health that had been abandoning her, but her mind also. It now wasn't uncommon for her to wake up in the dead of night shrieking about something or another. And sometimes, she would babble incoherently to herself as she wandered about in the dark. He didn't think it was possible, but she really had become more insane than she was when he had first met her.

"Apprentice! _Apprentice!_" she croaked.

"It is me."

"Where have you been this entire time?!" the wretch screeched, her gnarled paw clutching at a dried root.

"I was catching fish," Keetch snorted impatiently.

"Catching fish!" she spat dryly, "Last time we 'ad fish, I nearly choked to death! Get rid of the bones proper next time!" With that, she thrust the dried herbs in his direction. The fox didn't even waste any effort in defending himself as the herbs bounced off of him harmlessly.

Her apprentice instantly shot a deadly look her way. _Don't make me kill you._ But she obviously didn't catch the hint. Her weak paws reached out to the side, gripping a large wooden spoon. She made to strike at him punishingly, but the fox caught her paw easily, snatching the blunt weapon from her and tossing it off to the side.

"Stop it!" he snarled as he shoved her roughly, his sharp eyes narrowing at his thoughts. _Why should I be banished to such a hell when I have seen what heaven is like? Why should I be stuck here to toil over the most useless things and work in these conditions? Why do I have to put up with all of this? Why should I put up with this vermin? _

Forcing himself to calm down, he stepped around the fallen vixen and bent down to pick up the mound of herbs that she'd left disorganized. She was becoming more and more of a nuisance each moment. Out of the corner of his vision, he spotted the small slave staring back at him from behind a craggy rock.

"Slave, help me pick up these herbs," he ordered. He wasn't nearly as terrifying as Grack, but the poor rabbit was so used to following directions, she obeyed instantly.

"No! Slave! Don't listen to him!" the vixen rasped, spittle spraying from her grotesque mouth, "He's raised a fist against his master! He's no apprentice of mine anymore!" The rabbit obeyed once more, unsure of where this situation was going.

"Slave, ignore her!" Keetch's voice grated with bitterness. She made a slight motion towards the pile of herbs before the vixen's voice cut in again.

"I command you to obey me!"

"Don't. Listen. To her!" the apprentice punctuated

"Curse you!" the seer's withered face contorted with a dangerous mixture of loathing and madness, "How dare you defy _me_, your master!" Seeing that she wasn't involved in the battle anymore, the young slave quickly retreated to the darker regions of the cave, safer from the escalating battle.

"You're no master of mine anymore! You're clearly mad, you old fool!" he spat.

"_You_ are the fool!" she croaked, "I gave you a home and my training and this is what happens. _Just what I'd expect from a vermin_!" For Keetch, that familiar, stinging statement was the final straw.

"I've had it with you and your prattling nonsense!" he yelled as he stomped out of the darkness, "I'm sick of all of this! I'm done with this cave and everything with it! DONE!"

* * *

It was now dark and Keetch was farther from the cave than he had ever ventured for a long time. Tired after traveling all day, he lay on the ground, contemplating his new future. It had been nearly two seasons since he'd become Grack's apprentice and he'd learned a wide range of knowledge from her tutilage. But now it was different. Now he felt so free, able to make his own decisions. The breeze felt cleansing and pure compared to that stuffy cave air, and the stars were bright and twinkling against the midnight sky. And the moon- the moon was a pale, thin, curved line.

His mind instantly flashed back to the ritual of blood and bones. Lately, because of Grack's unsteady coordination, he was in charge of the grim process. And it was almost pointless, since the bones had nothing more to report other than the weather. How would news about weather help anybeast in any way? ... Unless he was helping a farmer. He had always figured his gift to be used for better purposes, such as finding the weakness of the main enemy or prophecizing a warrior or something like that.

_... But I have no intentions of going back to that foul place. Not when I have learned all that is possible from that miserable hag. She has gone mad- absolutely mad with old age. She should have died decades ago._

And then his mind wandered to the good old days, the days when he was chained, but somehow happier than he had ever been in his life. _I wonder what Brink is doing now? What is he thinking about? Where is he? Probably half way around the world... and I bet he's run into trouble... heh, he's always getting into trouble... And I wonder, where would we be now if we were still traveling together? Far away. Probably to some place the otter could brag about in his older years._

_And speaking of older years... what would become of me when I grow old? Stay at Redwall for the rest of my life as an honorary member? Yes, that sounds nice, living the rest of my days in peace. And maybe Brink would arrive too. And he would stay at Redwall forever, like me... But what is in store for that abbey? Am I really enough to turn the tide? What if we lose? What's to become of me? What if... what if they don't trust me? Would I... a coward of a fox... ever make a difference...?_

* * *

_Keetch felt darkness around him and he had a floating sensation, as if he were somewhere underwater. And ahead of him was a faint glow in the distance. He saw it inch towards him, as if shy and curious of his presence. And then all of a sudden, its pace quickened and the blinding light was rushing upon him. The fox gasped and held his arm up to shield his face and he heard a soft roaring against his ears. _

_And then, silence._

_Cautiously, his eyes cracked open and he lowered his arm. This place was familiar to him, yet so far away. The realization came to him slowly as he marveled at the soft redstone bricks that lined the walls and felt the smooth designs on the modest furniture. _

_"This is just a dream..." he thought to himself as he brushed a paw against the pink sandstone, "... A dream of Redwall Abbey."_

_"Indeed it is." _

_Keetch whirled around, expecting a foe. Instead, he found a large, muscular river otter leaning against the wall. Despite his obvious strength, the otter simply smiled at him and offered his paw to shake. The seer swallowed audibly and stared at him, taking a tentative step back. The stranger seemed to understand and withdrew his friendly gesture with a sad smile._

_"Wish there was more like yer kind where I grew up," he shrugged cooly. _

_"Where... This is Redwall isn't it?" Keetch asked, gathering the familiar sights around him. The otter nodded calmly as he surveyed the area. It was almost exactly as he remembered it, everything was in place: the tall candleholders, the arching ceilings, the beautiful stained glass windows, the orchards, and the famous tapestry hanging proudly beneath the warrior's brilliant blade. And then he noticed one thing different._

_"But... But where is everybeast? Why is it so quiet?"_

_"But this is a dream, mate. Remember?" the otter smiled again. Keetch drew himself up and calmly looked him in the eyes. He was tired of all these cryptic messages and dreams. He wanted answers. He's saving their precious home so can't they make the favor easier for him by just telling him? Why must they keep all the secrets to themselves?_

_"What am I doing here?" he asked slowly._

_"Because we need to tell you something," a sudden voice boomed, making the fox jump. Keetch wrenched his head this way and that, trying to find its souce before it called out to him once more._

_"Behind you."_

_Cautiously, Keetch turned around, looking up at the tapestry looming over his head. It was strange, for he could have sworn that Martin's pose faced slightly off to the side, as if looking off into the distant horizon. But now, he was staring straight ahead- straight at him. ._

_"Keetch..." the warrior mouse reached his arm out to him and the fox watched in horror as the arm materialized in front of him. Keetch stumbled backwards, only to fall right through the ghostly otter, who wore a amused expression on his face._

_"Stay back!" he cried as he struggled to get back to his paws. But the mouse continued, and now half of his body was emerging from its world of threads in serene grace. Once he had regained his balance, Keetch ran off, speeding down the hall as fast as his legs could carry him. _

_He was plunged back into the darkness once more, safe from the pair of warriors. And he would have breathed a sigh of relief if he hadn't looked back and seen the bright light approaching him, threatening to swallow him up and throw him back into that world again._

_Keetch gasped in horror and snapped his attention forward, paddling his legs with all his might. There was nothing but darkness ahead and his movements seemed to be painfully slow. He shut his eyes tightly and reopened them, hoping to find himself right where his consciousness had left him. But to his dismay, his little ruse didn't work. If he could just stay out of reach long enough to wake up... just a little longer... _

_He felt warmth breathing behind him and he twisted his head around in fright, only to see a flash. _

_And then he felt the impact of hard stone against his chin as he tripped and stumbled to the ground. Panting, he looked up to see the mouse standing directly over him, his sword in paw. Keetch felt the cold grip of fear clench his heart and drain his blood as he looked up at the warrior. _

_And then he did the unthinkable._

_Martin knelt down on one knee and held his paw out as if to help him up. And Keetch just stayed there, frozen, his gaze switching between the outstretched palm and the warrior's face. And finally, slowly, he raised a shaky paw and let it rest in the warrior's hold. __The mouse gave him a warm smile as he lifted him back on his paws._

_"I see you don't trust me," he said, his voice seeming to echo around him, "And I understand your distrust after all you've been through. But you have no need to fear me. I'm not here to harm you, only to talk."_

_Keetch nodded. He had sometimes thought about all the things he would say to Martin, Redwall's beloved liar. But right now, those insults escaped his memory. And besides, even if he did remember them, he doubted he had the nerve to say it directly at his face._

_"And despite all the wrongs you have done in the past, you have shown kindness and compassion in your heart," the warrior continued, "And you have a long journey ahead of you so listen carefully..._

_"Follow the path you walk,  
Always to travel against the horizon's origin,  
'Til you meet with the mark of gouged rock  
Entrance to the forbidden warren._

_Deep, black, tunnels of decay,  
Delve into the one at shadow's peak  
For to aid in victory someday,  
Nature's most deadly weapon you must seek._

_From beginning of old,  
We carved our home here,  
There was before you, one who was told  
And came to this place of death and fear._

_Through rock and darkness of time  
We build on hope and faith of red, warm stone,  
So that those after us shall live the life free of crime  
And of your own, you too, shall atone._

_In the tunnels of old,  
Lies an evil locked in eternal death,  
Writhing, coiling, from the heart so bold  
For it was the warrior mouse who cut his breath._

_I am deep in the foundations of redstone walls,  
Am I guiding your path, with what I have said?  
That path of which you wish to pace  
Is not to be without blood to be shed."_

_"... But what does all of that mean?" Keetch asked, "You don't expect me to remember all of this, do you?! And whose blood is to be shed? WHOSE?!" At this, he grabbed at the warrior's habit, clenching it in his fists._

_"You have always made it difficult for me! Always! You're just confusing me! Making things harder! Why?! Why riddles? Why trickery? WHY ALL OF THIS!?" he yelled, shaking the warrior slightly with every word, releasing all that pent-up frustration at the one he blamed._

_"Keetch," Martin said with a disturbingly calm countenance, "I understand your anger and I am only doing for you what I have done for others. Now go find what you must seek. The abbey needs you." With that, Keetch let his paws drop back at his sides, a look of hurt and bitterness as the mouse reached for his empty space on the tapestry._

_"But wait," Keetch called out, the childishly desparate tone absent from his voice, "The signs read that some spirit is guiding me. Is that you?" Slowly, the mouse turned to him, still smiling that same gentle smile depicted on the tapestry. _

_"I watch over those who are strong, willing, and good at heart. You are among others that I will guide... and I'm not the only warrior watching." As if summoned, several other warriors materialized into view. A mouse that looked very much like Martin, a tough-looking squirrelmaid, a mousemaid with a rope dangling in her paws, and several more. But the one that stood out against the crowd was that otter he had met earlier._

_"Remember that others have taken the same path as you, from an outsider to a hero. You are not alone."_

* * *

**Special thanks to DPBCLover and MangaHottie740 for proof-reading the poem. And special thanks to Foeseeker for proof-reading and giving me suggestions. :) Pay special attention to the final stanza and it reveals a major clue. I don't mind if you put guesses into your reviews.**

**I don't know if this chapter was any good because it seems a little anti-climatic but don't worry, since the next chapter with pick things up. And I'm curious to know what you guys thought about this chapter. The sibling relationship between Rosco and Jolin is based largely on Katara and Sokka's relationship. If you've ever watched Avatar the Last Airbender, you know what I'm talkin' about. ;)**

**Brink being allergic to pepperwas just a random idea. And notice that Brink is a little anti-social, using fighting as his positive outlet. And Sarrow Longshot is back! :D **

**By the way, notice that the italicized words before Keetch's dream sequence slows down a bit to show that he's beginning to doze off. Also, who exactly do you think was that otter I put in there? It's a lot harder than identifying Veil. Let's see if you can spot the symbolism between their cameos. **

**So please review because I really love hearing what you guys have to say whether it's positive or negative just as long as it's honest.**

**And just to remind you, I'm still doing the Character Bios and Plot Summaries for each chapter if any of you are interested. **


	28. Dawn of a New World

**Special Thanks to those who reviewed my last chapter: Foeseeker, Jarrtail, Zinachu, Martin the Warrior (anonymous), Foxstar24, Adderstar of Valorclan, Reynoi, I.HAVE.A.PERSONALITY.DISORDER, Fwirl of Redwall, Cinnamoonpool, SilverZeo, Awsomewriter123, Kylyn, MangaHottie740 and Red Squirrel Writer (who sent me a message because the review didn't go through).**

**Over the weekend, I got flamed by some stupid flamer. It's people like that who should move out of their parents' basements and get a job or something. Luckily, I was able to delete his comment.**

**MangaHottie asked me what happened to Lord Rathor. That's a good question, since he hasn't been seen in a while. Well, yes, he went on his crusade against the corsairs and he's still out there, even after two years. I just wanted to let you know that, since he is a minor character but don't worry, he'll show up later. ;)**

**Oh, and I went to Brian Jacques's book signing. He's working on the next book.**

**This is a Keetch-centric chapter again. This chapter will give you hints about his past, so keep a look out.**

**I intended this to be a total of 3,000 words so that my Word Count for this story would be a _perfect_ 100,000 words. However, this became much longer than I planned and so now I'll have to settle for 102,250 words. Oh well. Be warned though, despite the pretty Chapter Title, this chapter is dark in some parts. If you're confused or upset, just refer to my Author Notes at the bottom.**

* * *

**Dawn of a New World**

* * *

_"Follow the path you walk,  
Always to travel against the horizon's origin,  
'Til you meet with the mark of gouged rock  
Entrance to the forbidden warren..."_

* * *

The world seemed to spin as Keetch opened his eyes. The breeze caressed his face as he sat up, staring blearily at the crisp moon hanging daintily over his head. _How long was I asleep? Was it only a few hours? But the dream felt so long and it was so vivid... I still remember it clearly..._

He furrowed his eyebrows and sat up as he thought about his current position. He was all alone and had no idea where he was going. He inwardly scolded himself for being so impulsive, leaving the cave without a plan or any provisions. It certainly wasn't like him to act without thinking. And where was he going to go now? What was it that Martin told him...?

_"Always to travel against the horizon's origin"?_ What was that supposed to mean? _That cursed Martin! Couldn't he be more clear?! _He knew that the horizon's origin could be where the horizon began. But where did that happen? You could look in any direction and there would be a horizon off in the distance. Which horizon? _Which one?_

What else could it mean? There are so many ways that these riddles could be interpreted. Wistfully, he thought about how simple and clear his moments of sights were compared to these riddles. Couldn't Martin at least try communicating that way?

_Origins could also mean... beginnings... beginnings of a horizon means... a sunrise! Of course! It's the most prominent horizon of all, and it signifies a beginning- an origin! But travel against the sunrise? What does that mean? Couldn't Martin be a little more specific? Couldn't he tell me to travel towards or away from the sunrise? _

He moaned as he flopped back down on the grass. He can barely think at all in this state of mind! _Heh, as usual I get the worst of luck. The most peaceful sleep I get in months is interrupted by stupid dreams! And now I can't sleep with all those blasted riddles running through my head._ At that, Keetch didn't know what to do next. Should he stay there and wait until inspiration hits him and he understands the whole thing? But that could take forever...

_Or_ he could just head back to the cave and gather supplies for the journey ahead of him. _No..._ He shuddered at the thought of coming back to that filthy death-pit. And that Grack would be there, wheezing out her creepy laughter because her "apprentice" had come crawling back to her.

But it was still a logical choice. After all, he could always get food anywhere, but it takes days to dry and prepare medicine. He might need that, and the only place fully stocked was the cave. ..._So that's it then..._

Slowly, he rose to his feet and took a long breath of the soft summer air, ready to begin his next step towards his destiny.

* * *

It was now the dead of night and all was quiet in the cave except for the ancient vixen's raspy breathing. She stumbled slightly in the dark, meandering her way through obstacles on all fours, her bulging, sightless eyes roving madly in their sockets.

"Slave! _Slave_!" she croaked, "Come here!" The slave shivered slightly as she put down her meager meal of fish heads and arrived at her master's side. She flinched as Grack's face whirled in her direction and cracked into a gruesome, toothless smile.

"Get me my knife, slave," she requested sweetly. The rabbit knew what was coming and she'd always dreaded the days when this ritual came about. It was painful and terrifying, for she didn't know how much blood she would lose or if she would just simply die from it all. And now, even she could see the madness in Grack.

She wasn't the same calculating master she knew anymore. She was now slowly spiraling down to something less than herself, leaving everybeast to depend on her apprentice to read the signs and prepare medicine. But he was long gone now, off in the forbidden Outside world.

And she was only a mere slave. She _had_ to obey.

She hobbled to the table on the other side of the cave and grabbed the knife. Slowly, with her tight leash trailing behind her, she was beside the vixen once more, offering the weapon to her.

"Ah good," Grack whispered thinly as she snatched the weapon, "Now get me the bones now..." Still as obedient as ever, the rabbit held on to the edge of the tall shelf next to her, standing on the tips of her toes and stretching her arm, reaching for the sacred object. But even as she did so, her ears remained rigid and her eyes alert, expecting any sudden movement from the vixen kneeling behind her.

Her paw brushed the smooth edge of the wooden box. She couldn't reach any further and she knew that there was only way to get it now. Bending her legs and calculating the distance, she jumped up, feeling her paw crash against the lid and send it hurdling down as her body slammed to the ground. There was a loud cluttering noise as the box felt the impact, and as if on command, it released its contents, showering the floor with the ivory white instruments of magic.

Immediately, Grack was pawing at the ground, scooping the mounds of dirt and filth about her in an attempt to gather her precious artifacts. She muttered to herself as she did so, encanting her charms in small snatches of breath.

With careful and precise paws, she felt the details of each bone, counting and recounting, making sure that they were all present. And finally, relieved that her precious relics were unharmed, she snapped her attention to the poor child shaking in the corner.

"Watch what you do next time slave!" The little rabbit nodded meekly in response. As if sensing her submission, the vixen motioned her closer as she reached for the blade.

"Now come over here slave," she grunted with a beckoning claw. The slave made a step towards her, but faltered. Not hearing the sounds of approaching footsteps, the vixen looked up, her white, marble eyes narrowing.

"I thought I ordered you to _come_, slave," she said in a scratchy, willowy whisper. The rabbit licked her lips and swallowed audibly as she stammered a few shaky words.

"But Master, Master can't read b-b-bones without eyes, Master..." her high-pitched voice died off as she watched Grack's snout split into a dangerous snarl.

"I said _come here_!"

"Master _please_!" she begged, fear and desparation trickling from her words.

"You will obey _me_!" Grack howled. At that, the mad vixen staggered to her footpaws and surged forward, her knife poised to kill, glinting wickedly in the dim firelight. The slave erupted in a hoarse scream as she skittered off to the side, avoiding her cruel master's slashes.

"M-m-master, don't!" she sobbed.

But her pleading fell on deaf ears as Grack stumbled around, stabbing into the air with sluggish, clumsy thrusts, carving a path of destruction as she brought shelves and glass tumbling to their demise. She had a nasty grin pasted on her face, one filled with a mixture of hatred and ruthlessness.

The slave found herself side-stepping backwards, being pushed towards the cave's exit. And to her horror, she was feeling the collar around her neck growing taut. It wouldn't be long until she met the end of her slack. Where would she go now?

_Twang!_

She heard her leash snap to a straightened position. She felt the constricting collar threaten to strangle her! She couldn't move! She couldn't escape now! It was all over! Her legs shook violently, and as she sobbed another cry of horror, she felt her body fail her as she slumped to the ground, whimpering for mercy.

She heard the scratching of claws against the stone ground, and in her mind, she felt the knife hovering above her, threatening to plunge into her skull. And in that moment, she gave another blood-curdling scream for the last time as she felt the warm splatter of liquid on her face.

* * *

The sky was a beautiful deep sapphire blue, with tinges of pink on its fringes, the stars still twinkling in salute to the pale sliver of moon. Keetch sighed as he stared down at the gloomy cave entrance of his own dark underworld. He had been traveling for many hours through the night and he was back right where he started. Almosts mournfully, he took one more look at the world about him before he decended into the quiet darkness.

At first he noticed nothing strange, but as his sharp amber eyes became accustomed to the darkness, his instincts told him that something was amiss. He couldn't see anything particularly wrong, yet he kept his guard up all the same, not daring to call out to anybeast.

_Crunch..._

He gasped and jumped backward, realizing that he'd stepped on some broken glass. With one paw against the cave wall, he felt his footpads with his free paw, keeping his ears pricked for any sounds. _Nothing hurt... good. But what happened here? Why's it so quiet?_

Cautiously, he cleared his throat and forced out a small voice, one more high-pitched than he would have preferred.

"Grack?"

No sound. Not even a dry cough. The unsettling silence almost too much for him, Keetch took a couple small steps backwards. He would rather wait for the sun to rise so he could at least be able to see _something_. This murky emptiness made him feel so vulnerable- so helpless.

And then a shadow shifted in the darkness, its footpaws brushing softly against the grainy dust.

And then he noticed the body- stretched out on the cold, hard ground. Keetch suppressed a cry of horror as he looked around him for the culprit. Somebeast had killed it. Did Grack finally lose her mind completely and kill her slave? What madness drove her to do this?

The snow fox jumped as the shadow inched closer.

"Who- who's there?" he gasped.

There was more silence, and then the figure decided to speak.

"A-a-ap-p-prentice...?" Keetch recognized the voice and gave a sigh of relief. _She's alive then... and it's Grack that's dead... good._ For a second there, he feared that vermin were somewhere lurking in the cave.

"Slave, what happened here?" He took a couple steps forward, careful not to tread on any of the cruel glass shards scattered throughout the cave floor. The small rabbit shrank back to the recesses of the cave, as if she could conceal her presence.

"What happened here?" he repeated.

"No... no please Apprentice... don't hurt Slave," she sobbed as she pressed herself against the wall, curling up in a defensive position.

"Just tell me what happened," he snapped.

"It wasn't Slave's fault!" she whined, making sure not to make eye contact, "Master wanted to do Ritual of Blood. But Master... Master isn't right... Slave ran but Master chased Slave with knife! And then... then..." Here she started wailing pitifully, wiping the tears and snot off her dirty face with her even grubbier paws.

"_What happened_?!" Keetch demanded irritably. He had no patience for these things, not now anyways.

"M-m-master t-tripped on S-s-slave's leash," she stammered hastily, "Master's knife w-went inside and b-b-blood comes out..."

And then she broke her rule and looked up at her superior, wondering what the Fates had planned for her. The apprentice's eyes were narrowed, staring off in space as his paw cupped his chin, a sign that he was thinking.

"Ap-p-prentice," she addressed him softly, snapping his attention back at her, forcing her to lower her gaze as she spoke, "Slave's sorry... Slave's not worthy..."

Her new master heaved an exasperated sigh as he strode across the cave, kicking the body of his mentor, exposing the knife handle that was wedged in her chest. He grimaced as he tugged it out, flicking the cold blood off of it as he turned and approached the child.

"Now slave..." he said in a chilling voice, his sharp amber eyes glinting despite the lack of light, "... I command you to hold still..." He reached his paw out, meaning to grab her. She whimpered softly as she tried to wriggle out of his reach, but her efforts were in vain. As she felt his paw clamp on her shoulder, she felt a scream erupt from her throat and she convulsed in a series of struggles.

"No! No _please_! Slave didn't do anything wrong!"

"Be quiet and stop moving!" he commanded, shaking her. It was then that her obedience settled in, and she immediately went limp in his grasp. Seeing that she wasn't going to resist any longer, he roughly dragged her to the center of the cavern.

"Now stand straight and be perfectly still."

She did as she was told, though she couldn't stop herself from quaking with fear while desolate thoughts invaded her mind.

_"Slave is bad... Slave must be punished for Master's death... Slave must be punished with blood..."_

She gasped as she felt his paw grip her shoulder, his breath warm and dangerously close to her face. And then she felt the sharp, cold knife press against the side of her neck. Against her orders, she screamed again. She didn't mean to; it just came out. She squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for that sudden pain that will mark the end of her days.

_Snap!_

She felt a tension in her neck and she knew that would be it. Her time has come. But she was used to the thought of dying. After being around death and decay for so long, it seemed like such a natural thing... a natural, _terrifying_ thing.

She could hear her tiny little heart thrumming in her chest and she felt the grip on her shoulder slacken, and then... Nothing else. No pain. _Is Slave... dead...?_ Slowly, she cracked her eyelids open, not sure what to expect. _What would Slave see... Where would Slave be... if Slave was dead?_

But she wasn't dead. She was far from it. Instead, she was still in the dark cave, the snow fox still there. With a quivering paw, she felt around her neck for any injuries. She was relieved to find none. Instead, to her shock, she felt something different, a rough, frayed, rope-like object sticking out from the side of her neck.

Her collar was severed!

She brushed her paw against her neck more firmly, as if to make sure it really happened. It did, but it was still clinging to her neck, refusing to release her from its tyrannical hold.

She looked up at the snow fox, confused at his actions, but he wasn't near her anymore. He was off to the other side of the cave, rummaging through the piles of herbs. Unsure of herself, she picked at the hacked cord gingerly, wincing in pain as she felt the sting on her tender neck. But try as she might, the collar still wouldn't come off.

She heard the soft crunching of pawsteps approaching and she looked up, her eyes wide with curiosity. Keetch was standing over her, some medical supplies and a bowl of clean water in his paws. He knelt close to her, inspecting her wounds as she flinched slightly at his touch.

"The collar was too tight," his nose wrinkled in disgust, "It's been like that so long it's embedded itself in your neck. Sit down and stay still while I cut it out and clean it."

"C-c-cut it out?" she stammered.

"It could get infected," he said solemnly. At that, she nodded and obediently took her seat on the icy stone floor, still terrified of the idea of the knife coming anywhere near her neck.

Since his eyes had grown accustomed to the dark, the fox's work was quick and precise. However, the word "painless" wasn't a way to describe the process. She would flinch as she felt the knife worm its way around her neck, carving delicate slits just beneath her skin. They stung, but they were nothing compared to what happened next.

It was taking the collar _off_ that was the most torturing.

Carefully, with steady paws, he coaxed the cord out of its niche, gently dabbing a cloth over the foul mixture of blood and puss oozing out of the fresh wound. She winced and squirmed under the painfully slow process. To her, he might as well have been peeling off her tender skin, piece by piece.

Every inch of her body screamed to writhe and squirm, yet she held her own and stayed motionless, locked in her position. And in her efforts to stifle her cries of pain, she bit down on her scabby lip and dug her claws into her knees as she squeezed the hot tears out of her eyes.

And as for Keetch, looking at her right then, a faded memory sparked in his mind...

_It was an old one, one he would much rather forget. But it was still there: the image of a pathetic, scrawny, sniveling fox cub shivering of the cold, dismissed to the very back of the darkened room by the other vermin. Hungrily, he leaned towards the light, towards the roaring fireplace, yearning for even the slightest bit of comfort._

The snow fox let a small, resigning sigh escape his lips as the image emboldened itself in his mind. And it was then that he did something slightly unexpected, offering her a small remedy in a tone perhaps a bit softer than what she was used to.

"Bite on this," he said, offering her a wad of cloth, "It'll relieve the tension a bit... and it's better than biting your lip." With sweaty, hesitant paws and a fleeting glance at him, she accepted the simple gift. It was a better alternative indeed, though it did not quite lessen the pain as he eased the cord out of her neck.

_Please hurry... please hurry... please don't hurt Slave anymore..._

By the time he was finally finished with the painstaking procedure, he gently flushed the wound out with icy cold water and rubbed some ointment on it. It stung and burned in her flesh as she strained some final tears out of her eyes. But as soon as the wave of agony came, so did it subside, leaving a soothing, cool feeling. With skillful paws, he tied a bandage around her now-open wounds.

"It's done."

She sighed in relief, touching the base of her throat and swallowed, tentatively testing the pain. There was only a dull, raw feeling, but that was it. It was all over now.

"Slave," her new master addressed her, "Gather the supplies. We're leaving."

"Leavin', Apprentice? Leavin' where?"

"You'll find out soon enough, so get to work," he instructed.

"Yes Apprentice," she mumbled as she rose back to her footpaws.

The task was simple and quick, gathering the most important herbs and storing them in small bundles and boxes, for they had to travel light. There wasn't any food around anyways, so that wasn't much of an issue since food was never scarce in the woods during this plentiful season.

Gathering his things, Keetch selected a black, hooded traveler's robe, Grack's gnarled staff, the small knife, the box of bones, and finally, a large wooden traveler's case with compartments for medicine and complete with a false bottom.

As for the slave, she selected some of the dried herbs and tied them into small bundles, packing them into the large traveler's case. She had lived under Grack's "care" for her entire life and was familiar with which herbs were most used. She looked up at the apprentice as he sifted through the ruined remains of his domain. And then she looked down at the body of her deceased captor, her glazed eyes staring up at the ceiling, her mouth parted in a gasp.

"A-apprentice, what happens to Master?" she asked. Keetch gave her a sideways glance and she immediately clasped herr paws against her mouth, hating herself for daring to speak out of turn.

"We're going to leave her here," he growled, his eyes glinting with anger, "_Vermin_ don't deserve a proper burial. And besides, stop calling her 'Master'. _I'm_ you're master now."

"Yes Ap- I mean, Master..."

"Good. Now come with me," he ordered as he picked up his belongings and walked towards the exit- towards the light.

"Out of Cave?" she gasped, her footpaws halting, as if they had run out of their obedient momentum.

"Where else?" he snapped.

"Slave's sorry..." she mumbled with an apologetic bow of her head. He didn't seem to notice and kept himself moving forward, his new companion trailing behind him shyly.

But as she followed loyally, the light gradually grew brighter, so intense to her, she squinted and shielded her vision. She never knew that just looking at the Outside would sting her eyes. She fought against the urge to retreat to the recesses of the cave- her home. _This is why Old Master stayed in Cave so much. Old Master's eyes hurt from the Outside..._

And then slowly, the pain seemed to dim and her eyes didn't have that burning sensation anymore. She blinked slowly, experimentally, as if not believing it was gone. She rubbed her sore eyes and took a look at the world around her and gasped.

She had sometimes seen the daylight, but only as sparse shards of gold light that had strayed into the cave. She never thought there was anything so strange and beautiful as what she was witnessing now. A world of colors- of lush green, _live_ things. The air had a beautiful scent to it that she couldn't even describe. And there were tall brown things sticking out of the ground, green leaves stuck on the top in clumps.

And most amazing of all, the sky was painted with the most delicate shades of pink, all gathered about some glowing, orange thing in the distance. It was round, surging with rich, brilliant light. And it was rising slowly, as if waking from a deep sleep. She stared at it in wonderment, so awestruck that she didn't even bother to address her master properly.

"Wot's that?!" she pointed an enthusiastic claw at it.

"... It's the dawn. The sunrise," he said with a raised eyebrow.

_"Would it be wise to bring such a stupid child with me after all?" _he wondered,_ "She could just be another nuisance."_

"...Dawn? ... sunrise?" she repeated in a hushed whisper.

"Have you..." Keetch began, his curiosity piqued, "Haven't you ever seen one?"

She shook her head, her eyes still fixed on the blazing object before her.

"Then have you ever been out of that cave _before_?!" To his surprise, he recieved the same answer: No.

He shuddered at the thought of the pain she must've gone through. _A world of darkness? Without any freedom or knowledge of an outside world? Tethered to this cave without a single glimpse of light? What else has been hidden from her? What else has she missed in her miserable little life? Had I really been so obsessed with my purpose, that I just simply overlooked her pain... her suffering... all this time?_

"It's moving up!" she exclaimed, jumping up and down with innocent excitement.

"It does that every morning," he stated simply.

"And what does it do? Where does the sunrise go?" she turned her eager eyes on him, so wide and full of childish wonder.

"It travels West-" he paused right there.

He finally had the answer!

_"Travel against the horizon's origin" ... the sun goes West. And to travel against it... I must go East! Martin was telling me to go East!_ He turned his attention to the pitiful slave, small and malnurished, filthy, clad in thread-bare rags. He supposed he would somehow find a use for her along the way.

"Come on," he said gruffly, keeping his eyes on her, making sure she followed. Sure enough, she did, though not as silently as he would have liked.

"How many sunrises are there?"

"It's so bright!"

"If you look up it's blue."

"Look up! Look'it the funny white fluffy stuff there!"

"Quiet!" he said in an impatient hiss, watching her chattering come to a saddened halt. At the moment, attention from other creatures was the last thing he needed.

And then, he felt something warm clutch at his fingers. Appalled, he looked down to see her paw in his, the child staring at at him with an expression he hadn't seen in a long time- joy. And for just a fleeting moment, he felt his heart grow warm and flutter slightly, but he instantly pushed the sensation away. Quickly recovering from the shock, he snatched his paw out of her grasp and ignored her dejected face as he set his attention on the path ahead of him- a long, winding dirt road.

Staff in paw, he trudged forward, now knowing where his destiny was headed. It would be a long and daunting journey- he could feel it.

* * *

But one little detail went unnoticed to him. One that could have changed his mind that was set for atonement. Had he had the compassion in his heart to give his ancient mentor a proper burial, he would have noticed one vital clue of what lay before him.

For as she was dying, laying there and gasping her final ragged breaths, old Grack had seen one final sight in her mind's eye. With pained, quivering paws, she dipped her claws in the pool of blood forming on the ground. With the last of her strength, she drew out one small, smeared symbol on the dry cave floor.

Satisfied that her task was complete, she gave a final whispery sigh as she laid her paw over her last work: a familiar symbol to her foolish apprentice- one that haunted him and sent chills up his spine: ψ

* * *

**False bottom: basically a hidden compartment. It's a little tricky to describe, but think of the traveler's case as a big wooden briefcase. Now imagine that it has 2 floors, the top one has all the medicine and stuff while the bottom floor has all the secret stuff you want to keep hidden. And you can remove the first floor to get the secret things out. **

**OK, more of my insanely long author notes. I really cut it down a size in my last chapter.**

**First of all, I did notice that Keetch was portrayed a little darker than usual (maybe a little OOC?). Well, let's see it this way, I notice that he seemed almost exactly the same as the Keetch we knew before the time-skip. Well, I bet living as a caveman with some crazy witch would change him somehow. So yes, it's had a negative impact on him, making him revert a bit to a colder character. **

**Hope you noticed the little hints embedded in the text. If you spot them, feel free to post them in your reviews. :D**

**However, notice that he never does anything to hurt her (well, the healing process hurt) and he wasn't cruel in any way. Sure he'd be bossy, but he does show some heart and compassion towards the end of the chapter.**

**And as for the slave's speech, I know it's messed up, but she was raised in a cave. That's got to have some side effects on the way she speaks. She calls Keetch "Apprentice", not to be rude, but because Grack never mentioned his real name, only called him Apprentice. So that's how the name stuck. And she's just about 8 years old by now.**

**Grack died, tripping over and stabbing herself by the way. I remember reading Triss, where Kurda accidentally stabbed herself. I remember thinking "Phhht. What a dumb way to go down!" Anyways, we can all understand the moral of their deaths: Don't run holding scissors (or in their case, swords & knives). Ha! So, why this ending? Well, I figured that I hated her, so she should die in a ridiculous way.**

**Well I bet there's one reader out there who's happy with how things turned out (cough Awesomewriter cough). That reviewer was pretty concerned about poor Slave. She won't always be called that, so don't worry. ;)**

**The chapter title, by the way, is based on Tales of Symphonia: Dawn of a New World. The first book was such a great game, can't wait until November 11th (that's when it comes out). **

**I'll be happy to write any character bios and plot summaries for anyone who's interested.**

**So please REVIEW. Any constructive criticism, questions, corrections, suggestions, etc. are greatly appreciated. Whether it's a positive or negative review, I'd like to hear it. **

**Next chapter will focus more on the villains and their schemes. **

**Chapter 29: Tools of Destruction**


	29. Tools of Destruction

**Sorry for the late update guys. It seems as though teachers love throwing tests at me at a whim. i don't think I can continue with regular updates every Friday anymore. And I don't think I can say for sure when I'll update. Basically, expect random updates for now.**

**Things will be a little tricky for me, since I expect to have multiple storylines going on at once throughout the rest of this story. So if you bear with me, I'll be able to write so that everyone could understand what's going on. To make that easier, I'll be putting "Previously" sections up before the story. This chapter will both answer and create some questions. If you're confused with what's going on, please don't be afraid to ask, because I'm sure I didn't explain something properly or someone has the same question. I'll post all questions up before each chapter to make things easier to understand. **

**I'm adding a "Summary" at the end of the chapter, just to make it Reader-Friendly, so all of you guys can get the concept a little easier (this chapter's meant to explain a lot, so you can get lost here).**

**And FYI, if you were upset about Keetch's behavior in the last chapter, I just wanted to point out that not all good guys are necessarily righteous (just like how Brink's a good guy, but he's kind of an obnoxious jerk sometimes). **

**And it's come to my attention that one person has read my _entire _story all in one day on November 3rd (I just love the Story Traffic). Whoever you are, thanks for reading all of that in one day. And thanks to all you other people who've performed the same (or similar) feat.**

**Special thanks to all who reviewed the last chapter: Fwirl of Redwall, Awsomewriter123, Martin the Warrior (anonymous), Foxstar24, Zinachu, Reynoi, Foeseeker, I .HAVE .A PERSONALITY. DISORDER, Adderstar of Valorclan, SilverZeo, Jarrtail, and Red Squirrel Writer. And special thanks to SnuffSnuff too, for going through and reviewing all my chapters from 1-7.**

**Speaking of which, I've just noticed how crappy my writing was in the past and I'm so proud of this story's humble beginnings to what it is now. I mean, my writing style's changed so much and I feel as if I've grown as a writer (I'll stop being cheesy now). But this surprises me, since I've never really finished much of any hobby in my entire life. And this story was initially supposed to be 10 chapters long! I've gone a loooong way. :D**

**This is a darker chapter, though. Thank you Jarrtail for pointing out that the darkness is kind of getting out of hand. It's kind of disturbing me how depressing this story's getting. I'll try to add in some of the regular Redwall charm soon, since this is a chapter about the villains (and my villains would be pretty pathetic if they weren't dark). So on with the chapter!**

* * *

**Tools of Destruction**

* * *

**Previously: _Redwall Abbey is peaceful and ignorant of the dangers of the North. The inhabitants of Fort Greymorg are thirsty for power. While King Ragnar has gained his throne, General Thanatos is preparing for his grand war... but what do these brothers have in mind?_**

* * *

The War Room of Greymorg was in desperate need of windows and natural light, but Prince Thanatos didn't mind the eerie atmosphere. In fact, he enjoyed the quiet and little distractions it had. It allowed him to think.

The room was dimly lit, shadows playing against the gray stone walls as the ghostly lamp fires flickered to and fro. Light gleamed softly on the dusty weapons and armor, which stood still and silent like stony, resurrected skeletons, staring unseeingly as their prince and his subjects crowded around the table.

"And if we move the troops through this path," the weasel traced a claw downwards on the widespread map and stopped at an indication of a river, tapping at it, "They should disperse here, half of them moving to Salamandastron and the other half to Redwall. This will only be the first wave of soldiers, since we don't have enough provisions to send our whole army out at once. Therefore, we need to put a halt to all the construction and get our slaves to focus more on cultivating crops, digging ores, and creating more weapons." At this, he took his chance to glance at the faces of his soldiers before continuing.

"Based on Fenris's reports," Ragnar nodded at the silver wolf, "We know that the mountain's inhabitants are Redwall's closest allies. If we block them off from each other, they will be taken down separately and easily."

"But I thought the abbeybeasts were a bunch of weaklings," a rat captain spoke up, "We should focus more on Salamandastron rather than the abbey. Redwall would surrender once its only defense is gone. That way, we kill two birds with one stone."

"Very good point, Mangefur," Fenris's baritone voice rumbled, "But you forget that 'peaceful' isn't always the same as 'defenseless'. Since they are overly hospitable and have a long history of fighting vermin, it's likely that they have allies outside of Mossflower country. If the abbey is surrounded and all connections are cut off, then victory would be easier for us."

"And the badger mountain?" a snow fox asked.

"That could be taken care of just as easily," Thanatos answered confidently, "Our scouts have reported that their badgerlord and more than half of their hares have gone to battle overseas. Since the mountain is located on the coasts, we will send ships over there to block off any way of communication to their leader. Then, they will be cut off by land later, and we'll have the powerhouses of Mossflower all in our paws." He raised both paws, bringing them together, interlocking his fingers to emphasize his point.

"So when do we send the Basilisk after them?" Fenris interjected, noting the nervous expressions on the officers' faces as they murmered amongst one another. Thanatos, however, kept himself calm as he forced his voice to ring above the cacophony of whisperings.

"We'll send the Basilisk in the warmest part of summer, so the traveling will be easier on it. It can't stand the cold for long, after all," he explained, sending swift glares at the few officers that dared to talk, forcing their volume to wither to nothingness.

"By then, the Abbey would be heavily damaged under our blows and will be under seige. By then, they'll either starve to death in their fortress, flee, or fight back. And _if_ they fight back," he held three fingers up in emphasis, counting them down one by one, "We have the advantage of numbers, strength, and time, and these conditions are the exact same for Mount Salamandastron. Whoever dares defy us will find themselves facing a monster backed by an army! And soon- _soon _we will have all the land, food, power, and slaves Greymorg could ever ask for- and _you_ will be living off of the fat of the land."

He let out a small, quick breath as he looked up to see his loyal subjects looking back at him with vicious smirks on their lips, eager for glory and bloodshed- emboldened by his passionate speech. They had been living in the darkness and the cold for far too long. It was about time they expanded and took what is rightfully theirs.

"And what do we do with the woodlanders?" the hulking wolverine growled in inquiry, "Shall we make the rivers flow with their blood?"

"That won't be necessary, High-Captain Kavar," Thanatos replied cooly, as he leaned over the table, "Although it would take several decades to stamp out their rebellious nature and rehabilitate them to the life of slaves, it would be well worth it since their numbers are legion."

"And what of the ones who resist?" Kavar's voice rumbled.

"Kill them," the prince shrugged, "They'll serve as examples so the rest would follow our orders. So then, back on the subject of sending off our troops," he glanced around the room to make sure he had everybeast's attention, "We have accounted for the harvests, and the rate of weaponry being produced thus far and everything is going in our favor. If everything goes according to plan, we shall rule Mossflower country within one season. Are there any questions?"

His eyes flicked around the room, relieved to see only faces of confidence and enthusiasm for the bloodshed ahead of them.

And then a slow, isolated clap resounded. He looked behind him, his eyes narrowing in irritation at the figure leaning by the doorway.

"Well done, Ice General," Commander Dagmor smirked, "I really didn't think that you could handle this war meeting without any of my help, but now I see that you're far more capable than I thought."

"It can only be expected, since this is the role I was born for," the weasel replied through gritted teeth.

"Ah, of course," the stoat commander sneered, "I was just thinking that you couldn't handle the stress. After all, you should be with Lieutenant Reun right now. You wouldn't want to miss the birth of your second child, would you?"

The entire room held their breath, shocked by the stoat's brazen statements. After all, he wasn't addressing his subordinate or any equal here. He was insulting Greymorg's second in command, _the _Ice General, _the_ Prince Thanatos. The suffocating silence continued its existence for just a few more moments before the weasel's clear, strong voice shattered it in a million pieces.

"I have handled everything. The room is well guarded and my mate will be fine so long as Sigma is tending to her. Nothing can go wrong," he replied icily as he tapped a claw on the map, "And my ambitions for my kingdom are always my first priority, Commander."

"Hm," Dagmor replied as he turned his back and left the dark chamber, "I should hope so, my prince. We shall see if you are indeed worthy of your status."

Wordlessly, Thanatos watched his old mentor disappear behind the corner and fought to control his breathing. He couldn't lose his patience now.

_"I'll deal with him later when he is of no more use to me,"_ he promised himself, compensating for his painful moments of inaction. He took a few more deep breaths before he turned to the vermin staring at him, his confidence renewed.

"Anybeast have anything else to say?" he asked, his anger tainting his voice. Nobeast said anything, and even those who would have dared to speak up had nothing more to add. Satisfied, Thanatos nodded at his officers.

"You're all dismissed." At that, the leaders nodded and slunk out of the room, relieved that the argument had been a short one this time. If it had been a full-blown skirmish, surely there would be some casualties.

As the last of them filtered through the door, Thanatos sat back down and rubbed his temples as he studied his map once more. But try as he might, he couldn't focus at all on his strategies or any of the plans he had in store. All he could think about now was Reun... and his brother. _Yes, Ragnar is lazy and he's an incompetent ruler, but he is no fool. He's full of cunning, and I have to beware of that..._

* * *

Meanwhile, King Ragnar slumped on his bejewelled throne, twisting the dagger in his paw idly while he brooded over his situation. At the moment, his throne was balanced precariously between he and his brother, its existence threatened. _That stupid little brother of mine should know better than to get in my way... I'm the ruler here and I'm the only beast that can guarantee his victory. Does he even think he can overthrow me with the birth of another brat?_

After all, he was the first born son of the late Queen Narsca, making him king. And yet, it was Thanatos that ran everything in the kingdom, from the reaping of crops to the training of the military. The only thing Ragnar was still in charge of was managing slaves and keeping the construction in line. But now his Thanatos had already ruined his fun by focusing all the slaves into his little war effort.

With a frustrated sigh, he shifted his weight to the side, laying on the cushy throne in a sideways position, his legs dangling over the golden armrest. Absent-mindedly, he stared at his reflection on the sheen of his dagger as he let his thoughts wander.

Had he thought better of it, he could have had the Thanatos sentenced to hang, or possibly poison him himself. He _had_ done it before, after all. Yet, there was only one advantage in having his brother alive: he was a good leader. Of all things, King Ragnar despised the minutiae of the military and the troublesome duties it brought. But then again, how much longer until he had served his full purpose? His brother was already eyeing the throne- he could feel it tugging in his fears.

With an aggitated grunt, the weasel pushed himself off his comfortable position and strode out of the empty room, dagger in paw. The guards at the doorway jumped to the side, sensing that his mood was sharper than usual, but he ignored them as he kept his gaze forward, focused on only one thing in mind.

_"It's time I paid someone a little visit..."_

* * *

**_Flashback_**

_The little, garishly-dressed weasel looked almost comical as he strut around the halls with his nose held high, barely sparing his subjects a sideways glance. His air of conceit was only interrupted every few steps when the little one paused to adjust the over-sized crown bearing down on his head. He grumbled as he did so, his long, floppy sleeves hindering his efforts._

_However, his activities imitating a superior were interrupted by a familiar voice that called to his attention. He whirled around, muttering curses under his breath as his precarious crown tilted to one side,__ obstructing his vision completely._

_"Ragnar," Queen Narsca called, "Prince Ragnar, my son."_

_"What'd'ye want!?" the child asked sharply as he readjusted his crown. His mother took no notice of his crossed tone as she called to him once more, a slight hint of nervous tension in her voice that even her five-season old son could notice._

_"Prince Ragnar, I want you to come with me. I want to show you something."_

* * *

__

With his mother and a cluster of nervous guards leading the way, Ragnar found himself descending into what seemed an abyss. The little prince had no knowledge of such winding halls and dark chambers, and the area was cloaked in filthy cobwebs and had a sinister quiet to it. And as he delved deeper into the unknown, he noticed that the halls were littlered with the bleached remains of beasts, their faces grinning and their sockets staring at him rudely.

Finally, tired of the grim silence, the little weasel decided to speak up.

"Where are we going?" he snapped, noticiing the guards cringe as his shrill voice cut into the air.

"Someplace secret," his mother answered patiently.

"But it's filthy here! I hate this place! Hate it! Hate it! Hate it!" he shouted as he jumped up and down, holding his precious crown down on his head in case it fell off. Now the guards were sweating, gripping their weapons tightly in their paws, eager to flee.

"Stop it, Ragnar," his mother ordered, "This is serious, so calm down."

"But this dump smells terrible!" he yelled, enjoying the echoes he was creating.

"I told you to stop," the queen answered, her patience waning and her anger rising.

"No!" he yelled with all his might, "No! No! No! N-"

**"Who darez dizturb my zleep?!"** a deep, gutteral voice roared, its voice making the tunnels rumble faintly. All of a sudden, the torches seem to succumb to the pressing darkness, throwing long mutilated shadows on the walls. The black shapes danced and skittered around their solid counterparts, almost mocking them as their fears enveloped the group. The guards froze at the voice, cowering at the unseen force hidden in the shadows ahead of them.

Prince Ragnar stood still, completely petrified. Had he not had fur, he would have been a deathly pale color. He didn't expect to feel such a nightmarish presence among their midst, and he had no idea what was lurking in the ominous dark. But whatever it was, he felt his heartbeat pound against his chest as he imagined giant claws dart forward and rip him out of the safety of the dim light, thrusting him into a hideous mouth so his small body could be mashed and ground between razor-sharp fangs.

Quickly, he ran to his mother, clinging to her like a flea, burying his face in her dress. The voice sounded again, and the guards staggered back, their weapons pointing forward at whatever was speaking. Queen Narsca, on the other hand, stood her ground, though her eyes were brimming with fear.

"Who iz there..." it breathed. The little prince whimpered as he jumped up and down frantically, holding his arms in the air, begging his mother to hold him. However, his pleading went unanswered as the Queen swallowed audibly, and then answer the raspy voice.

"It is I, Basilisk- Queen Narsca," the weasel said, her voice only wavering slightly.

"Aaaah..." the voice seemed to sigh, "I haven't zeen you in zo long..." Ragnar gave a little sob as he smelled the hot stink of the mysterious creature's breath ripple through the tunnels. He turned around to see that the guards were even farther than they were before.

"What is it?" he asked in a high-pitched whisper, "I want to go back, Mother..."

But the unseen creature seemed to have heard his small voice among the echoes and immediately took interest.

"You have brought me frezh meat, I zee... I'm alwayz hungry..."

At the very prospect of being fed to this monster, Ragnar wailed loudly before Narsca smothered his cries with a strong paw.

"He is not for eating," she said firmly. Everybeast held their breath as they waited for a response. To their surprise, there was none. The tunnels seemed to glow back to its normal lighting and all was still, as if that creature had only been a figment of their imagination- something born only of the darkest of fears.

With a sigh of relief, the weasel queen turned to the guards, nodding at them. They understood the signal immediately and fled with all their speed, glad to be released from this awful dungeon of death. Ragnar was tempted to run along with them, but they were so very far away now. He couldn't stand being alone in such a place. Shaking like a leaf, he still clung on to his mother, who took a tentative step forward.

Terrified, her son dug his footpaws into the ground in an effort to dissuade her. However, she was determined to meet this fear.

"Come along Ragnar," she said as she plucked him off the ground, ignoring his struggles completely as his ridiculous crown clinked to the floor.

"Noooooo!" he shrieked, tears streaming down his face, "Mother! No!"

But no matter how hard he kicked and squirmed, his mother kept a strong arm around his body, her pace forward unfaltering. Her grip was so tight against his stomach, the small weasel thought that he would actually suffocate before he met this creature of darkness.

"No wait! Mother don't!" he wailed. Sobs choked back in his throat as he noticed the darkness closing in on the both of them, the dimly-lighted tunnels slipping from view. He couldn't see anymore. It was dark- so very dark! He heard the crunching of bones underneath her paws as she trudged onwards on her grim trek. Bones... was this path lined with bones?!

He felt his mother halt, and there was a quick succession of clacking sounds, like rocks striking against each other... and then... light.

He fell silent and flinched as the blazing torch sparked to life, battling fiercely against the sinister shadows. Ragnar blinked once. Twice, and he still couldn't believe his eyes.

They were standing on an overhang, overlooking the cavernous remains of dungeons below them, giant, cracked pillars stretching upwards to hold the high stone cieling above. The dungeons were more like a maze, for the walls had crumbled to dust ages ago, breaking down cell walls to create sporadic, zig-zagging paths that weaved and intertwined together, splintering into a thousand different paths. He could hardly believe that his own kingdom so close to this place, just resting above, oblivious to the stark underworld below.

As he was still and silent, Queen Narsca loosened her hold on him and he slid back on his footpaws. At first, all he could hear was his own breathing, and then another soft rumbling sound that seemed to come from everywhere. In response, the queen spoke again, her voice quivering just slightly.

"Basilisk!" she stopped at the sound of the resounding echoes- a voice lost in time.

"Basilisk, by the power of the ancient pact that has lasted for generations, you are bound to a master... Come out..." her voice faltered, softening from a commanding tone to a shy request.

The world seemed so still for a few seconds- so cold, so dead. And then it came back to life. Out of the corner of his eye, Ragnar spotted a shadwy figure shift slightly. He grappled at the hem of his mother's dress as he gawked at what he thought was a collection of giant boulders. It moved slowly, as if waking from a deep sleep, and came toward them, his legs fat and appallingly sluggish from misuse.

"Who iz thiz new mazter...?" it hissed. Ragnar whimpered with fear at the leviathan below him. Now that it was up close, he could see just what it was- a giant reptile easily ten times the size of any normal beast!

_As it moved, Ragnar noticed small, faded dots speckling its rough, dark skin, its fat tail dragging behind him like a useless stump. Its eyes were like polished obsidian, its breath reeked of death, and long webs of saliva trickled from the corners of its mouth. It was truly grotesque, but he was far below them, trapped in the mazes. For that, the prince was grateful for his mother's presence. Had she not been there, he might have unknowingly tottered over the overhang out of curiosity, and ultimately fall to his death so he could be devoured by this abomination._

_To his horror, he felt a firm paw plant firmly on his back, pushing him forward slightly. He gave a sharp cry of alarm as he wheeled around, determined not to come closer, but his mother was thinking otherwise._

_"My son," she said, the usual cold steel back in her voice as she addressed the lizard, "He's the firstborn son of the ruler of Greymorg- your one and only master, if you recall the pact."_

_"A weazel cub...? You expect me to take orderz from a cub?" he hissed in a soft reply._

_"He'll grow," Queen Narsca replied levelly, "And by then he will be a great leader. And you shall serve him, as you have served under his grandfather, and his father after him, and all the generations of Greymorg."_

_"What is this?" the weasel cub squeaked in confusion, his teeth chattering._

_"I took you to see your future servant, son," she replied in a hushed tone._

_"I don't want it!" he pleaded, "I don't want it!" The Basilisk seemed to take offense to his whining, his voice grating as he spoke._

_"Don't want me...?" his voice rasped, laced with malice, "I kill lotz! I kill many with my poizon teeth!" At that, it opened its massive jaws wide, allowing vile, syrupy liquid to dribble out, revealing the neat rows of sharpened points nestled neatly within, "What wouldn't want me?! Fool?!" As the lizard's voice escalated, so did Ragnar's wailing, until Narsca cupped a paw to his mouth, stifling his cries once more._

_"... I want meat..." the Basilisk rumbled, its tongue flicking in and out of its mouth in quick spurts of anticipation, "... I want frezh meat..."_

_"You will get your meat," the weasel replied coolly, "As long as you respect the pact. As the firstborn son of the current ruler of Greymorg, Prince Ragnar is your master now, but I will train him to be a fearsome warlord someday. And when that day comes, you will obey his wishes to the death."_

_There were several more long seconds of silence before the Basilisk spoke again._

_"Then I am bound by the pact," the lizard grated in agreement, though his tone was not entirely submissive._

* * *

King Ragnar sniffed at the dim memory in his mind. It was so long ago, and he was so young, but still... for somebeast to actually see such a pathetic view of him... He shoved the disturbing thought out of his head and continued down the familiar darkened hallways.

As he grew up, he had outgrown his fear of the dark. After all, he had encountered even worse than that. If anything, Basilisk was the closest thing to the devil himself! Evil, venomous, ugly, ancient- everything he associated with hell.

But of course, he had found a use for the trapped monster- everything had a use, after all. At first, it had simply been a basic procedure, tossing the weak and elderly slaves into the ruins below, straight into the gaping, hungry jaws of the Basilisk. But then, a wonderfully sinful idea wormed into his mind.

He turned it into a game.

What was better than to watch those useless slabs of meat squirm around in the darkness of this underworld, separated from each other as they veered here and there in search of an exit to the labyrinth maze? Of course, there really was no exit- only a ruse to raise the hopes of the pathetic slaves so they could put more energy in their attempts.

But of course, he did tell at least one truth. Oh how entertaining it was, to watch some of them go mad with fright as they anticipated the monster in every corner and every turn! Of all things, Ragnar loved it when the victims screamed as the Basilisk's maw came crashing down on them. Not only was it like music to his ears, but it also brought on a wave of panic to the rest of them, making them even more frantic, even more desperate. _Ha! As if they ever stood a chance!_

And even more amusing was to be safely above the chaos, watching from overhead while the death and fear descended upon them one by one. It was like being a god!

As he turned around the corner, the shadowy halls were now bathed in the flickering glow of torches. With disdain, he noticed several scraggly guards slouching over their posts. As he approached with quickening footpaws, a rat guard elbowed his companion and the two immediately stood to attention, standing straight as boards, their arms bent upwards in a snappish salute.

Despite their efforts, all they earned from the weasel king was a disgusted look as he tilted his head towards the ceiling, his nose pointing up to the air as he strode past the doorway. But they were more than satisfied by his response. They certainly didn't want to gain any attention from _him_,of all beasts.

His back to them, Ragnar grinned darkly to himself as they trembled just by a mere look in their direction. But he continued onward. He would enjoy terrifying the likes of them, but for now, there were more important matters to attend to. Continuing down the impenetrable darkness, he was only to be met by the familiar overhang.

He crossed over to the nearest wall, feeling the grimy stone walls for a torch. With a grimace, he found the ash-tipped stick and some flint placed in a small niche next to it. With clumsy, unrefined movements, Ragnar made several attempts to light it, only seeing tiny infant sparks rather than the expected bursting flames. Normally, he would have had a servant come with him just for this purpose, but he wanted to be alone this time.

And then finally, the end of the stick flickered to life, crackling softly in the shroud of silence. Satisfied with his work, he placed the torch in the torch holder, clapping his paws together to rid his paws of the filthy cinders and ash. It took several moments, but after he was convinced that his paws were clean, he decided to commence with the meeting.

"Basilisk," he called out, confidence ringing in his voice. There was no answer for one second. Two seconds. Three.

"Basilisk!" he snapped. Slowly, the vague shape of boulders moved, revealing the laviathan.

"You called... mazter?" its deep voice rumbled, "You bring more food thiz time?"

Casually, Ragnar cupped his elbow in one palm and rested his chin on the other, shaking his head in an aloof gesture.

"Not this time."

"Why not?" the Basilisk rasped, "I want _good_ food- _frezh_ blood- _young_ flezh..." Ragnar smiled weakly as he dropped his carefree facade, his arms folding against his chest as he answered in a sinister tone.

"I'm afraid Greymorg can only afford to lose the old and sickly at the moment- Thanatos's orders."

"More for hiz war?" the lizard hissed in spite.

"Well, he says he needs to keep a strong work force," the weasel answered, inspecting his claws under the dim light.

"I want him dead!" the Basilisk cursed dryly, "You're king! Kill him!" Ragnar smiled inwardly. He was prepared for such a demand.

"I'm afraid he's not cooperating," he shrugged, "He's becoming difficult... but look at it this way..." he gave his servant a quick glance before he continued, "He's paving the way for war right as we speak. Once we get you out of this dungeon of yours, you can travel South, towards the warmth. There, you can eat all the beasts you want. And then, when my brother's fulfulled his purpose..." he flashed an vicious grin, "You can swallow him whole."

"With pleazure... mazter..."

But it was then that Ragnar's good mood came to an end. His grin wavered slightly as his paw strayed to his stomach, a dull pain throbbing inside of him like a pulse. He lowered slightly at the strange feeling, and then a rough, ticklish sensation started up in his throat. He coughed testily at first, believing that it was only a small matter- something stuck in his throat surely. But this was not the case.

_Not again..._

With a feeling of dread, he coughed some more, louder and harder as he fought to assuage the raw feeling in the back of his throat. He produced ugly, hacking sounds that echoed around as his body heaved and convulsed, his lungs ablaze.

Finally, his coughing was brought to a descrescendo before sliding to a painful halt. As he was bent forward slightly, a paw still clutching his stomach while the other covered his mouth in an effort to stifle himself. With heavy breathing, he wiped the trails of saliva from his mouth with the back of his paw. Slowly, he croaked another light cough as he turned his palm towards him, inspecting the damage- a mixture of scarlet blood swirling in a sticky puddle of spit.

He grimaced at the sight before he smeared it off on a nearby rock.

"Your illnezz iz worze..." the Basilisk's tongue flicked out of its mouth, relishing the smell of fresh blood.

But Ragnar didn't bother to respond. Instead, he leaned against the walls, breathing rhythmically to calm himself after the attack. With his head bent and arms dangling uselessly at his sides, he recalled what Sigma the Soothsayer had predicted, her sonorous voice resounding in his mind.

_"You will not see the glory of old age, my prince, for your health should fail you, and an illness should slowly consume you..."_

That was nearly a decade ago, and he would have lopped that snow vixen's head off right there if his mother had not intervened. He didn't believe her anyways. Nobody believed her, yet it was all coming to reality.

_"How much longer could I last? Twenty seasons? Ten? Five?"_ and then a soft, bitter growl rippled from his throat, _"Whatever it is, my brother and his heirs will never outlive me. I'll make sure of that, or my name isn't King Ragnar the Demon King!"_

* * *

**Summary in a Nutshell: _Prince Thanatos is planning to take on both Salamandstron and Redwall at once and plans to surround both fortresses. It is revealed that Lieutenant Reun is his mate and his 2nd child is going to be born. Despite the event of another child, he's decided that the future of Greymorg is his highest priority and is missing his child's birth. Meanwhile, King Ragnar's troubled by the birth of this child. He goes down to the darkest, deepest dungeons of Greymorg to meet with his greatest weapon, and most dangerous servant, the Basilisk- a giant, poisonous lizard. The Basilisk is bound by an ancient pact (that I will explain in a later chapter) and is only under control under Raganr's orders. Angry that his brother is threatening his throne, the king tells the Basilisk to kill him when the time comes. It is also revealed that Ragnar doesn't have much longer to live, as he's got some terminal illness._**

**Please be sure to read this entire chapter, since it's a lot more thorough than this summary. If this doesn't clear things up, tell me and I'll get back to you.**

* * *

**I really wanted to throw Thanatos and Reun a babyshower or something while I was writing this chapter. But oh well, that will take out that sinister effect. More info on the family ties and stuff like that in about 3 or 4 chapters from now. And what did you think about King Ragnar and his elegant, sadistic style? And I'll definately explain the pact in more detail in the next villain-based chapter in 3 or 4 chapters: "Bloodline".**

**The Basilisk is a mythological beast that's the "King of Serpents". Its poison is so lethal that it leaves a trail of death where it walks, and even its breath and glare are deadly. However, there is one animal that can withstand it and kill it, and that's the weasel. That explains why I have weasels being my warlord leader. I have to thank the "Animal Connect-the-Dot" book for that, since that's where I learned that about 10 years ago. :D**

**And the Basilisk here is actually based off of a Gila Monster, one of the only 2 poisonous lizards in the world (I watch too much Animal Planet). I decided not to make him an adder, since BJ uses them more.**

**The next chapter will focus on what's going on with Keetch, and what's going on at Redwall. I haven't focused too much on Melo lately.**

**So you know the drill, please review. Be as harsh as you want, since I can take it. Any speculations, constructive criticism, corrections, comments, ideas, questions, suggestions, etc. are always welcome. Just review, since I love hearing from you. And if you just don't feel like reviewing or anything, thanks for reading anyway. **


	30. Solace of Conflict

**I am SO sorry for the long wait for the updates. Well, now I'm going to try to get a more routine updating- schedule so that it isn't completely random anymore. So, just to tell you, I'm going to update this fic once every two weeks. I don't know, but sometimes I might just come back to doing it weekly like I used to. Whatever happens, just remember that I'll update on either Friday or Saturday... maybe Sundays. **

**This bi-weekly update thing is due to the fact that I have another story, Destiny at a Different Angle. I'll be alternating my attention between each of them every week, so if you're bored, be sure to check it out, since I've just updated it today. It's a Warriors story, by the way.**

**Special thanks to all who reviewed lately: MangaHottie740, DPBCLover, SnuffSnuff, Awsomewriter123, Zinachu, Red Squirrel Writer, Foxstar24, Fwirl of Redwall, Foeseeker, Martin the Warrior (anonymous), and Jarrtail. The numbers here are a little lower than usual, but I'm just going to guess that it's the timing of my update. I'll never update on a Monday ever again now.**

**And another thanks to SnuffSnuff for reviewing all those old chapters I should really update. He's practically my Beta Reader now. **

**As some of you might have noticed, I've recently stopped obsessing about my story having a rounded number of words total (like how I'd prefer 6000 to random numbers like 6478). This is because I'll slowly be updating my fic backwards from Chapter 19, so my numbers would be skewed a bit anyways. As for the revisions, there will be no changes in plot, just grammatical corrections here and there and a little more additions of details. Nothing big.**

**This chapter will be less sinister than the last one, but it will still be just a _little_ dark. Thank you Jarrtail for telling me the darkness is a little too frequent now. **

**Q and A (Where questions and comments will be answered so the story can be reader-friendly)**

**Red Squirrel Writer: Thanatos is maybe just a tad bit paranoid because he's competing against his older brother for the throne. Commander Dagmor's mention of his heirs set him on edge because his comment didn't sound like a friendly suggestion between ex-mentor and apprentice- more like an under-handed threat of sorts. I'll get into more detail on that later. And as for Badgerlord Rathor, I'm going to have to admit that I'm still in the planning stage, so I'm still working out his role. Don't worry, he'll show up eventually, probably only as a minor character.**

**MangaHottie740: Yes, now that I realize it, the whole Slave-Keetch relationship is kind of like the Rin-Sesshomaru thing in Inuyasha. Good call.**

**I. HAVE. A. PERSONALITY. DISORDER: Since you reviewed anonymously, I'll just have to thank you here. Thanks. And (gasp), what are you doing reading the story when you should be studying for your tests?! Just kidding.**

**Martin the Warrior: Thanks a bunch for your review. :D**

**And I'm glad that all of you guys just love the Basilisk idea. I love it too.**

**Um... just to remind you, remember that there was once a plague that hit Redwall a decade ago and a lot of them died. Melo nearly died of it (it's mentioned in Chapter 11- 14). The story goes that Melo's dad, Brother Bartholomew, traveled out North in hopes to find a cure but never returned. Just pointing it out to you guys, since it's been _so_ long.**

**OK, I'll shut up now and let you read.**

* * *

**Solace of Conflict**

* * *

Cautiously, Slave leaned over the calm water, inspecting the stranger that had mysteriously appeared before her. She cocked her head sideways as she scrutinized the new creature- before her- the miserable rags it wore, the white bandage that encircled its neck, its strange long ears poking out of the top of its head, the spindly crooked whiskers, the big brown eyes, the pinkish velvety nose, and the little specks of light brown under glops of muck and grime.

It disturbed her how this beast seemed to stare straight back at her, nervous and scared, yet too curious to bolt. She got on all four paws, leaning even closer towards the creature under the water. Slowly, she offered her paw to it, noticing how the creature did the same thing. She held her breath as she touched it gently, watching the water ripple as their tiny paws met.

And suddenly, the stranger was disappearing, its form distorted by the rings of ripples. Slave gasped as she shot her paw in the glassy lake, her paws searching for the unfortunate beast that was lost in the water.

"Master! Master!" she called out frantically, scraping against the muddy lake floor with both paws in an attempt to save the poor beast, "Master, come quick!"

"What is it? What? What's goin' on?" a voice snapped, escalating with the sounds of pounding footpaws, rustling leaves, and snapping twigs. Suddenly, the ruckus halted and a figure pushed back some branches, weary eyes peeking at the scenery. Slave heard her Master mutter a curse as he staggered out of hiding, rubbing his bad leg as he confronted her.

"What is the meaning of this, Slave?" he snarled. The little rabbit froze immediately, kneeling on the muddy ground, her knees soaked, both her arms entirely submerged.

"Slave's sorry, Master," she whimpered.

"What are you doing?" he asked, the impatience evident in his voice as he crossed his arms over his chest.

"M-Master... there was a strange creature in the water... and now it's gone... did- did she drownded?" she squeaked, quailing at the sight of the fox's hard stare.

"What are you talking about, Slave?" he said, "Fish?"

"No Master! No!"

"When I say take a bath, that means wash up NOW!" he ordered, pointing at the lake with a rigid claw, "So do as I say!"

"But Master, there it is again!" she exclaimed, gawking at the image right below her. His interest piqued, he walked to her, hovering over her shoulder only to see nothing but their reflection in the water.

"There's another one, Master!" she whispered in awe, her voice shaking with wonderment, "It has a Master too!"

"That's not another beast!" he snorted as he cuffed her ear, ignoring her piteous whine, "It's just your reflection, stupid!"

"'Flection, Master?" she asked, her eyes widening, "What's a 'flection?"

"_Re_flection!" he corrected sharply, turning away, "It's you! It's a picture of _you_ in the water! Now go scrub all that filth off your fur! You reek of death and cave!"

"Slave's sorry, Master..." she responded meekly, her large ears lowering as he disappeared behind the wall of trees and leaves.

_"Doesn't know what a bath is, doesn't know a reflection when she sees one, doesn't know anything, so what can she be used for?"_ Keetch thought to himself as he stomped towards their "campsite", a simple space between trees marked by their few belongings. Suddenly, an inventive idea crept into his mind.

_"I think... I might've found a use for her after all..."_

* * *

The kitchens of Redwall Abbey glowed warmly as the mousemaid performed her magic. She watched as the ovens' fires transformed her cakes and pastries from gelatinous masses to works of art and perfection- something to be admired adoringly before it was quickly consumed. She stirred the stews and warm broth, observing how they gurlged in their sparkling pots as the temperatures rose to their likings. And from time to time, she would lovingly arrange the tins and jars that stood diligently on their shelves, each one housing a rare collection of sugars, salts, herbs, and spices.

Nodding proudly at the order she had brought, she made her way to her half-finished pie crust, adjusting its edges to cover its round tray. She hummed to herself while she did so, making sure to dust the soft dough with a light sprinkle of sugar- just the way dibbuns loved it.

Then, without turning her head or looking up from her work, she smiled cheekily.

"Don't you dare Melo," she scolded in a playful sing-song voice. She recognized the soft cluttering sound of a pot lid tapping against its rim; she held her laughter in as the culprit attempted again, this time with another tactic.

"Hehe... just a little taste?"

She turned around, giggling softly at the young mouse's antics. He was taller now, a spitting image of his long-since-passed father, though still lacking in his reserved mannerisms. Although he had grown up, nothing else seemed to have changed one bit.

"Now Melo," she said, shaking a fork in his direction in mock reprimendation, "I'm not quite done preparing the strawberry jam... and you're going to have to wait for supper just like everybeast else." A crestfallen look befell his face as he turned around dejectedly, laying a paw on a the ladle next to the stove, some of the sweet jelly still clinging to it.

"Aw... but doesn't being the best friend of the next assisant-chef mean anything to you?"

"Nope," she shrugged, crossing her arms, her whiskers twitching as she surpressed a smile.

"Oh well. That's alright. But... you know," a sly look glimmered in his eyes, "It really would be too bad if that nice white apron of yours... _got splashed with red!_" Quick as a flash, Melo swung the ladle, flicking small droplets of red on her face.

Slowly, Mirril's eyes cracked open, finding her shoulders shrugged upwards in an instinctive hunch and her chin tucked. And then she noticed Melo, standing on the other side of the table. In one paw, he held the incriminating "weapon" while the other hovered over his mouth, his eyes wide with shock and mischief.

"Um... I was aiming for your smock..." he said, his voice wavering with the need to burst into laughter. Mirril only gave him a stern glare as she dabbed a finger on a sugary splotch on the side of her cheek, putting it in her mouth testily. She rested her paw on the table, shifting her weight slightly to one side, her eyes furrowed in deep concentration.

"Needs more sugar," she commented brightly as she rubbed her face on a wet cloth, lest she spread the sticky jam all over her face. Melo laughed as she did so, appreciating her sense of humor before he cleared his throat to speak.

"So," he began, watching her add the snow-white crystals into the bubbling pot, "When are you going to tell them...?" She turned around to face him, the cheerful glint in her eyes dimmed.

"Tell them what?"

"I mean, when are you going to tell Abbess Linette and the others that you want to resign as Infirmary Keeper and become the next Chef?" She turned back to her work, the quiet settling in the room like a trapped breeze.

"Mirril, what is it?" Melo began, confused by the sudden change in mood between them, "Did you aleady tell them you quit?" He paused for a while, until her voice answered him, thin and soft, as if she was cold and weary.

"I don't know, Melo," she said as she shook her head, preoccupying herself by stirring at the pot in front of her, "I haven't told anybeast else about it except for you. The thing is, although I'm so much better at cooking- _and I really love it_- I don't know if I'm disappointing everybeast else if I suddenly decide to leave the Infirmary."

"But you won't be disappointing anybeast," he said with reassurance, "It _is_ _your_ decision, after all. And it's not like you'll never be able to help if anybeast gets hurt. You can still assist others with their injuries."

"I know... I've always wanted to stop, but... ever since my mother died, everybeast's been expecting me to fill her role as Infirmary Keeper. She didn't even get to pass on all her knowledge to me... and..." she bit her lip as she recalled her mother's memory, feeling her vision swim as the water swelled in her eyes.

_She was always so willing to help everybeast, keeping a smile on her face as she did so. She was always so smart and knew how to do everything... and she was always there for the Abbey, doing her very best and loving it. And me... I'm so, so selfish... all I can think about are my needs... my wants... _

"And all I have are books to learn from, trying to do all of it by myself. And I can _never_ replace her- or measure up to her at all," she muttered, half to herself, "Just look at me, Melo. I hardly have any experience as a healer, and to make things worse, I don't think I can do any of it right."

"That's not true," he insisted, feeling furious with himself for dragging her doubts to the surface, "If it wasn't for you, Tarka might still be in trauma after his parents' murder! If it wasn't for you, many of us wouldn't have even _survived_ that plague. And if it wasn't for you..." his voice faltered slightly as he brought himself to state the last possibility, "... I wouldn't be alive. I would have _died_ of that sickness." She sighed in response, her voice quivering in a strange mixture of relief and of regret.

"But Melo, the disease was already passing anyhow. I was just merely there to help deliver soup and moist cloths... nothing more... I was just barely a child when I took on my mother's role. Do you honestly think that a little mouse of that age could have possibly done _anything_ significant?" The mousemaid turned to give him a pleading look, as if imploring him to say more words of encouragement and solace, but he simply shook his head in uncertainty.

"I don't know," he replied gently, "But your happiness and your dreams are your own rights. Whatever you choose, I'm sure that the others will support you just as I do." With that, he cast a rare, sad smile before he left the kitchens, leaving the mousemaid to her thoughts.

_Melo... I really do envy your strength and your confidence. It's so easy for you to say those things... And even if you're disobeying everybeast, training for some battle against evil, you're still on a road that is filled with purpose. A mere cook does nothing but shape cakes and pastries, yet a healer fixes broken bodies and shattered hearts. You're lucky that the decisions you've made have more use than the my self-centered choices..._

* * *

Somewhere on the other side of Redwall Abbey, in a room filled with stacks of filled shelves and beautifully-aged scrolls, a figure sat hunched over some parchment. He was a lanky figure, propped up on a tall stool that left his footpaws dangling. He had one paw gripping a white feather pen delicately, keeping it hovering above the smooth parchment while the other paw supported his drooping forehead as his eyes furrowed in thought.

Tarka groaned as he skimmed over the sparse notes he'd somehow wrung from his mind. It disappointed him, that waste of paper and space. Absent-mindedly, he read the entry for today's "events" while doodling little rudimentary figures of flowers and bees on the corner of the page...

_All goes well in the preparation for this season's grand feast. I don't actually have that much to write about, but Old Recorder Quimby explicitly said that I had to write in this book at least once every three days. Well... I guess this counts as an entry then, since I am writing things down. Hopefully the old hedgehog won't notice my negligent behavior and check over my "work" these past few days. Though, I'm still just a novice, so I'm sure he'll spare me at least ten minutes of a lecture. _

_Recorder of Redwall Abbey,  
Tarka_

Nothing much to add there. And he really wasn't being lazy, only truthful. Lately, day after day, he would end up writing about his expectations of the Spring Festival, its preparations, its food, it's this-and-that. He sighed at the monotony of it all- its sheer _repetitiveness_. He pitied the poor, bored creature that would ever feel compelled to read such mundane statements in the distant future.

Quietly, he placed the thick, feathery, ticklish cloud of a pen on the table, wiping off the excess ink with great care. Then, he left the book open, waiting for the ink to dry, allowing his words to stain the reputation of this era forever.

As he pushed himself off the lumpy, wooden stool, Tarka realized what a comfort the books brought. They whispered the most inspiring stories, givng him a distraction from the disappointment weighing down on him, and they were things to be treasured- echoes of the past brought to life. If only other creatures would appreciate these priceless, sacred pages and this old room that smelled of freshly yellowing pages.

Of course, he wasn't like the other beasts, who rarely entered the room- if at all. In fact, when he was a dibbun, Melo and Sarrow only used for one thing: hide and seek. That was it.

But that had changed, however, when Tarka was appointed the esteemed title of "Abbey Recorder". Of all things, Tarka prided himself in his story-telling prowess, able to capture every moment in his voice. It was only then when he could speak his loudest, drawing strength in the words and quotes of others rather than his own. He remembered how the dibbuns and- even Melo- would gather 'round to hear him weave his masterpiece in the air, giving voice to the warriors of legend.

Slowly, his mind wandered back to one of the more eventful storytimes he'd experienced. It was none other than Brink the sea otter, who showed up with the otter crew one white and blustery day. He, along with Melo and the dibbuns took their seats next to the toasty, roaring fire as Tarka began his story and read everything through 'til the very end- or at least, _almost_ 'til the very end.

* * *

**Flashback**

_Excerpt from The Outcast of Redwall: "The calm kind eyes of Redwall's Abbess met those of the mousemaid. 'So, Bella and I were wrong, there was some good in Veil, even though it cost him his life to show it. Can you accept my apologies, Bryony?'  
The mousemaid kissed her Mother Abbess's paw respectfully. 'There is no need for apology. Veil was bad, I know that now. Bella was right. Some creatures cannot help being the way they are. In all the time we knew him, Veil did not perform one act of kindness to any living creature. I have thought a great deal since he died and wondered if he would have saved me if he knew his father was really going to throw that javelin. I couldn't help loving him, because that's the way I am, but I know that the world is a better place without Veil-"_

"WHAT?!" a voice boomed, startling everybeast, "Is that mouse _dead in the head_?!"

Tarka watched helplessly as the furry faces turned away from him and looked to the lone figure in the room. Tarka sighed as he acknowledged Brink's "input"... or in this case, a rant.

"Is she _mad_? This whole time she's been railing on and on about how Veil has some good in him, and _right_ when he finally proves it, she turns the other cheek! She has to be the _stupidest_ creature to have ever walked 'round in this Abbey!"

"Brink," Tarka piped up, unsure of how to respond, "Please don't insult the past Abbess Bryony that way. I-"

"_Abbess_?" the sea otter's jaw nearly dropped, "You mean somebeast like _that_ could be Abbess? I'll tell ye, that mousemaid was born with a load o' "compassion" rather than a _brain_!" he pointed a claw at the side of his head as he said this. The dibbuns gawked at him- a full-grown goodbeast- defiling the name of an Abbess!

Instantly, Tarka gave Melo a desperate, pleading look, begging for his assistance in the matter, but the mouse merely shrugged. He didn't quite know how to respond to this either. Out of habit, the otter grabbed at his wrist, wringing it as he addressed the outraged Brink.

"Brink... I- uh... don't think such talk is appropriate here..."

"And let me guess, it was the _great_ Martin the Warrior that knew this was going to happen. He warns pretty much everybeast when they're about to die, but I suppose he doesn't care when it comes to vermin, does he?" Brink continued, his arms crossed over his chest. Immediately, Melo sprang to the defence of his deceased idol, a fist curled as if he were to land a blow.

"Don't you _dare_ talk about Martin the Warrior like that! He was the single most bravest, strongest, and wisest creature that ever lived!"

"Oh really?" Brink argued, getting up from his seat, his eyes glimmering with open defiance, "Have you ever met him, or do you believe every word in these _stories_? Didn't you ever think it was possible that the past recorders had exaggerated all the bits and pieces of the facts, making him look so righteous- that he's so mighty that he actually lives on in spirit and _talks_ to beasts in dreams? Melo, the mouse you hero-worship is nothing but a glorified piece of the past!"

"You take that back!" Melo shouted, leaping to his footpaws, a claw thrust forward accusingly, "Anybeast who's a goodbeast would _never_ insult the name of Martin the Warrior like that!"

"Well I believe I just did!" the otter snarled.

"You wanna' know how a _real_ warrior fights?"

"Try your worst!"

"With pleasure!"

"STOP! IT!"

The energy was sucked right out of the room as everybeast fell silent and turned towards their storyteller, a shaking, nervous figure gripping the now-crumpled pages of the book in his paws.

"Both of you _stop it right NOW_! Can't you see you're scaring the dibbuns?"

Hesitantly, both culprits looked at the wide, frightened eyes staring back at them and hung their heads. Slowly, embarrassed but still furious, they took their seats once more.

"Now... if I may continue with the ending..." Tarka said shakily, smoothing out the delicate pages with a gentle, steady paw as he gave everybeast a stern, warning glance. Nervously, the dibbuns turned their gaze away from the two combatants, giving the younger otter their attention.

"Good riddance to that vermin," the mouse muttered softly under his breath, though still audible to his opponent.

"They were all stupid, blind, and ignorant to any acts of good," Brink answered rigidly.

"Then they weren't very different from you," the mouse said under his breath, not bothering to look the otter in the eye. With that greatest, stinging insult, Brink snapped a withering glare in his direction.

**End of Flashback**

* * *

The sky began darkening, the sun sinking back to its rest with ease. Under the elongated shadows of a tree, Keetch drew his dark cloak closer to his body as he sat down on an old tree stump, his paws between his knees as he contemplated his new strategy.

Suddenly, the bushes started rustling and the little rabbit stumbled into their campsite, soaking wet and shivering as she hugged her arms over her small body. Despite her sloppy, disheveled appearance, however, her fur was definately sleeker and less tangled without the layers of dirt and who-knows-what.

"A-all done with my bath, Master," she said through chattered teeth, saying the word "bath" as if it were something foreign. Keetch looked at her, rewarding her work with the subtlest of nods. Cautiously, she took her seat on the ground, keeping her distance from him and facing the other way, still afraid of eye contact.

As she stayed in her position, staring at the trees standing guard around her, she couldn't help her trembling or the fact that her teeth were rattling in her jaws. Hesitantly, she turned her head to the silent snow fox. In return, her master shifted his gaze to her, sensing that she was meaning to speak. She took this as a signal, or maybe a warning, to ask a question- a _good_ question.

"M-m-master..." her frail voice sounded, "Master's not going to make fire?" She shrank back a little towards the end of her question, anticipating either a shout or a beating. Luckily, it was neither. Just a clear, simple answer.

"It's too risky. The last thing we need is attention from any other beasts."

The little rabbit's eyes grew wide as she twiddled her fingers divertedly, feeling herself growing a_ little_ bolder at the lack of punishment.

_This Master doesn't beat Slave like Old Master..._

"W-w-what's Other Beasts, Master?" she asked hesitantly.

Keetch smiled invertedly, knowing full well that now was the time to introduce his plans. He gave her a smug, knowing look as he answered her question.

"Slave," he began, "Do you know what a 'vermin' is?" She shook her head vigorously.

"Then do you know what a weasel is? Or a ferret? Or rat?" She shook her head again, dumbfounded by all the names and questions.

"What are they Master?" she piped up, "What do they look like?"

He shot her a silencing look, forcing her to clamp a paw over her mouth in a regretful, apologetic gesture. Satisfied with her compliance, he continued.

"Never mind what the weasels and rats look like. There isn't any way to describe all of them to you unless you see them for yourself- and let's hope you don't. Foxes, like me and your old Master, are vermin," he said, holding a stern claw up in the air, "And you must always stay away from them. They're_ not_ beasts to tangle with."

"What do they do, Master?" the slave asked softly, hugging her knees closer to herself.

"Terrible, unspeakable things..." the snow fox replied, his countenance cold and calculating as he recalled all the terrors he'd seen, watching the rabbit's eyes grow wide at the list, "They capture beasts and enslave them- if they're lucky. The others are killed brutally- sometimes skinned alive, limbs are chopped off, thrown into a lake to drown, forced to kill each other... there are _many_ ways to suffer than under a knife. Remember that... But let's not talk about the likes of them anymore.

"The next lesson about the Outside World is who you _can_ trust. Now, there are rabbits- such as yourself... otters, mice, squirrels, hares, badgers, hedgehogs, and things called 'shrews'. These are called goodbeasts, and they are very peaceful and hospitable," he shifted slightly in his seat as he began introducing his idea, "And they readily trust any other goodbeast that comes their way. And that, Slave, is where you are of use." Instantly, the slave's long ears shot up at the very hint of a task.

"Of use, Master?"

He nodded, his sharp golden eyes glimmering despite the lack of light.

"Yes. You, being a goodbeast, are capable of evoking pity from them- and even better, you're just a child. The place where we're going soon are filled with those creatures. It is therefore your task to build a trust between those beasts and your Master." She gave him a confused look before he continued again, making sure to explain the situation slowly.

"When we meet them, they won't trust me because I'm a fox- a _vermin_," he said, saying the word "vermin" with a touch of contempt, "But if you say something in my favor, that would work to my advantage."

"But- but Master, Slave's a... " she whispered, struggling with her next word, "ver... min too, right? Slave's like Master and Old Master... correct?"

Keetch slapped a paw to his forehead while he heaved a frustrated sigh.

"Don't you _understand_ even the _simplest_ of information?" he snapped, "You're a _rabbit._ I'm a _fox._ Now shut up and let me finish!"

"Slave's sorry Master!" she whimpered, shrinking back at his outburst, "S-slave will do whatever Master wishes..."

"Good," he replied slowly, falling back to his calmer mood, "Now listen carefully, and don't you _dare_ mess this up. When we meet them, you are to tell them that you were a slave to vermin- vermin who used you as bait to lure traveling goodbeasts to your aid... You're to tell them that you've never had parents, and that your memories are filled with the knowledge that beasts had always died- believing that they were going to help some pitiful little wretch like you when all they were doing was walking into traps... that all you ever knew was death and misery. And tell them that one day I came along... came along and poisoned those vermin, freeing you... Do you understand now?"

There was a small pause as Slave processed the instructions carefully, comprehending the tragic tale she was to tell the goodbeasts.

"Yes Master..."

"... And about calling me 'Master'," he continued slowly, "You can't call me that anymore. It will only raise questions from them. Just call me Keetch... it's what they know me as."

"Yes... Mas- Keetch!" she said shrilly, correcting herself before he would fix her another glare.

"And you... I can't call you Slave anymore either. We'll have to call you by a new, inconspicuous name... hm.... so what would it be...?" he cupped his chin in his paw, glancing at all the random plants and objects around him, "Oak... Leaf... Dirt... Ivy... Pebble... er... Rowan..." A movement in the corner of his vision caught his attention. He looked to his left, noticing the little rabbit raising her paw tentatively, requesting permission to speak. He nodded in her direction, granting her a say in the matter.

"U-um... how about a pretty name... like..." she looked to her paws nervously, "... Sunshine... or- or ... Daylight...? Such pretty names..."

"No," Keetch responded bluntly, crippling the little self-confidence his slave had, "No stupid names like those! No vermin- _no creature_ in his right mind would even call anybeast names like those! Now shut your mouth while I come up something normal." With that, he turned his attention away, naming all the things that came into mind.

"Daisy... Elm... Rowan... Weed... Pinecone... Clover," his brow furrowed as he contemplated that name, "Clover... Clove..."

He looked at her then, the quiet little rabbit that stuttered when she spoke- a simple, clumsy, skittish creature. For some reason, the name seemed to fit her perfectly.

"Clove... what do you think of that name, Slave?" he asked in a condescending manner.

She looked back at him- startled and at a loss for words. Nobeast had ever asked her whether she liked something in particular. And never before had she been given a chance to voice any opinion in any matter.

And what was she supposed to say now? Was she supposed to tell him what he wanted to hear? Or maybe she should just tell the truth- tell him how much she hated that name- _Clove_. Such a plain-sounding name. And was she also supposed to tell her Master how much she hated the new changes to names now? Couldn't she just stay Slave and he just stay Master? And what sort of name was _Keetch_? Some strange, ugly name that sounded more like a cough was what it was.

With little other thoughts, Slave swallowed down the dangerous voice in her head and answered him in the dutiful way that every slave was to respond- complete and total agreement.

"It's a good name, Master," she said softly before she caught her mistake, suddenly snapping to a tight, panicked voice, "I mean Keetch- _Keetch_."

"... Then you know what to do then? Is everything clear now?" he asked smoothly.

"Yes... Keetch..."

"Very well then, Clove," he replied, testing the name on his tongue. He then leaned back slightly, looking up to the stained night sky, the wisps of clouds curling about the moon. And then the peace settled in the atmosphere, a sign that he had nothing more to say. She was free to do as she wished now- just as long as she didn't disturb him.

But Clove still had one more question. No. In fact, her mind was bubbling with confusion, numerous questions nagging her mind.

_Why does Master want to go to Goodbeast Place? What is it called? What is it like? What do goodbeasts and vermin look like? How does Master now about the goodbeasts? Are they friends? Are they enemies? _

But there was just one question that was bothering her the most.

"But Master...?"

He didn't say anything. If he had heard her tiny little voice at all, the only thing that showed it was the fact that his ears twitched irritably at the mention of the word "Master".

"... Keetch...?"

"Hm," he grunted- the rough note teetering between an order to stay quiet or permission to speak. Clove swallowed audibly, noticing how dry her throat was- how dry and strangled it felt.

"... Keetch..." she repeated, "Sl- Clove still has one more question..."

More silence blanketed the gap between them.

"... Keetch said he was a fox... a _vermin_..." she stopped, feeling as though she had suddenly ventured into dangerous territory. The silence lingered on for a few more seconds until her Master spoke up.

"Finish what you were going to say," he commanded, his eyes narrowing as they continued to scan the sky.

"It's nothing Mast- Keetch," she insisted.

"_Say it!_"

She flinched at the harsh tone, more afraid disobeying him rather than insulting him.

"...Then why doesn't Keetch kill Clove? Old Master was mean... a mean vermin... but Keetch is very kind to Clove. Keetch tooked care of Clove. Why? Is Keetch really a ...goodbeast?" Her voice died as he turned his head from its upward angle, looking at her straight in the eyes.

It was a strange look. Not the familiar angry or disgusted expression that she was used to.

No. It was softer- more fragile... sad even.

"I don't know..." he sighed wearily, "I don't think so, anyways..."

* * *

**So what did you think? Each segment sort of had its own conflicts embedded into it. Sister Mirril is struggling with her fears of disappointing everyone and about her own self-confidence and getting over her mother's death and stuff. Brink, as you might have noticed, expressed some regret with the way he handled Keetch's betrayal. And Keetch showed just a bit of compassion and uncertainty towards the end.**

**I just loved writing Brink's little flashback segment. I mean, what he said about Bryony was _exactly_ what I was thinking towards the end. I love the phrase "dead in the head" and that she was born with a "butt-load of compassion rather than an actual brain" (ok, he really didn't say that, but that was what I was thinking). If Bryony was actually one of your favorite characters, I'm hoping that this chapter changed your perspective a little. I really do hate her so. Very. Much. And notice how Melo actually seemed to agree with Brink somewhat (sorta) until he brought up Martin the Warrior.**

**Mirril's part was a little difficult to write, since I had to work out the interaction between she and Melo. Plus, I had to make her sound a little enigmatic or something.**

**Keetch and Slave/Clove's part was quite fun to write too. I mean, it's so ironic that Clove actually thinks that Keetch is actually _nice_ to her. Obviously, she's experienced very little kindness in her messed-up childhood. And let's not forget how she was a little confused with the reflection. Thought that was cute. And Keetch coming up with that story about her being a "bait", I was wondering why that was never used in BJ's books before. **

**AND YES, I notice that Keetch has been a jerk to her lately, but let's all remember that he is a lot nicer than Grack and doesn't actually beat her or anything like that. He's kind of lost himself and he's a little misguided right now. **

**There's meaning to Clove's name. Not only is it short for "clover" (she was never really lucky to begin with), but it's also a reference to garlic (which holds special value in magicky stuff) and it's also the past tense for "cut", which suits her because she had to do all those disturbing blood-letting rituals and stuff.**

**Here are the ages for some of the characters after the time skip (can't believe I forgot to do this for a while):**

**Brink: 19- 20ish**

**Keetch: 20**

**Melo: 18**

**Mirril: 24**

**Tarka: 14**

**Clove: 8**

**King Ragnar: 28**

**Prince/General Thanatos: 26**

**Fenris: late 30's**

**Lieutenant Reun (Thanatos's wife): 26**

**The next chapter will deal with the villains again, this time answering more questions than bringing them up. It's titled "Bloodline."**

**REMEMBER TO REVIEW! Any suggestions, comments, ideas, questions, constructive criticism is wanted. I love all reviews, whether they're positive or negative, so please _please_ review. I seriously check my email, like, every 15 minutes just to hear from you guys. So please review. Thanks for reading. :)**


	31. Bloodline Inheritance

**Now on to Chapter 31. I'm so glad that the Drop-Down menu for the my chapters has a little scroll-down thing. Yay.**

**Thank you to all my reviewers: FireHawk34, Zinachu, I. HAVE. A. PERSONALITY. DISORDER. (I'll just call you IHAPD, if you don't mind), SilverZeo, Reynoi, AwesomeWriter, Jarrtail, Cinnamonpool, Foeseeker, Kylyn, Fwirl of Redwall, Martin the Warrior (anonymous), Foxstar24, and SnuffSnuff.**

**Still in the process of editing... which is going at a snail's pace right now.**

**Q and A (where I answer all the questions you've asked)**

**IHAPD: Well, Keetch is trying to use Clove as a means to get the Redwallers to trust him. I mean, it would be pretty convincing for them, since Clove is such a cute little kid and that sort of "rescue-you-from-slavers thing" really would appeal to them. He does this because he needs Redwall to believe him when he tells them about their impending war, and he's desparate for acceptance.**

**Awsomewriter123: Hm, well you've actually helped me out with Clove's name, actually. I mean, I was kind of worried about it and was about to scrap it before you told me it sounds good. The name's beginning to grow on me, and it seems to be a hit with a bunch of other people too. ^^ By the way, you've been reviewing this story since the _very_ beginning and you're still here. Thanks SO much.**

**Foeseeker: Very good point with Keetch being mean, but as Reynoi pointed out, "Good thing not to make him outright nice to her" because I'm trying to "build an awkward relationship". Well, it's certainly dysfunctional, isn't it? I just decided that Keetch isn't just yet 100% good, but I understand what you mean by that. In every chapter, I'm just itching to make them act like family or something, and I have to try _really_ hard to restrain myself. And good point with Mirril and Melo. Did you know that you're the VERY first person to point that out? :)**

**Heh, yeah, Melo acts a whole lot friendlier towards Mirril (winkwink). Well, there certainly seems to be a connection growing between them, but I don't really think it's anything romantic, but I can't really promise anything. I do plan to have a touch of romance here and there, and I plan to have a small love triangle. I can't say anything else about the relationships that will happen, since I've already said too much. :X**

**As for Melo's role in the story, I'm sure it's not really prominent right now since the first 26 chapters were like a HUGE prologue to the whole war going on soon. Well, if you think about it, Melo's been very rebellious and looks up to Martin the Warrior... so you figure it out. ;)**

**Kylyn: Sorry about not including a summary for the last chapter. I guess I just got lazy. :(**

**Martin the Warrior (anonymous): When I said that I was going to have this story up to 50 chapters or so long, I was just guesstimating. I really can't cram all my plans into just 20 chapters, so it'll definately be longer. I don't have a fixed limit to how long this story is going to be. It ends when it ends, simple as that. For all I know, I could stop right at Chapter 87 or some other random number. You can probably tell, based on the pacing of the story, that I'm going at a slow speed here. I really don't want to go so fast that I finish the story, but I leave everyone behind. I like to focus more on character development and stuff like that before I continue. After all, what's the point in having a bunch of climatic & dramatic stuff happening if nobody cares about the characters?**

**And Clove really isn't dumb, just to tell you. She lived in a cave, shut out from the rest of the world, so it's only natural that she would be very curious and clueless. When she was suggesting that her name should be "Daylight" or "Sunshine", it was just my point-out to all the dumb names that only Mary-Sues would have. Though, in reality, Clove would be mentally retarded if she grew up under those conditions, which is really kind of sad. I decided that I didn't want to do that to poor her, so I made her more normal. And yes, Keetch is older than Brink by just a season or something. He always seemed the most mature to me. They're still around the same age though.**

**Foxstar24: I wasn't going to answer your question at first, but then I decided that it was pretty much predictable and obvious in the first place, so I'll just say it here. Keetch and Clove will go to Redwall, but not right away. He still has to find the "Deep, dark tunnels of decay" and retrieve "Nature's most dangerous weapon".**

**Other Notes: I'm glad to see that so many people love Clove and that there are actually some people who share the same views about Bryony. I have some very special news to tell you all today... drumroll please... (insert dramatic sound effect here)**

**I'm planning a sequel for "The Chains that Bind Us"! Yup, I've already worked out the title for it: "The Blood Between Us". It will center around the current characters and some new ones and I'm really excited to start on it ASAP. The plot is really just revolving around my mind and I really don't think I can tell you much of anything else except that it takes place 20 seasons after this story comes to a close. :X**

**This chapter is a little darker (and longer) than some. I tell you, my chapters just seem to keep growing in length. If _anyone_ hates how long each chapter is getting or the rates of my reviews, please tell me. **

**This chapter is meant to explain some of the inner workings of the villains, and you NEED this info to get on to the storyline, so if you get lost, don't worry. I've put a plot summary at the end of the chapter so look there.**

* * *

**Previously: _With King Ragnar's days numbered due to his mysterious sickness, he vows to dispose of his brother before he departs the world. Will he ever triumph? And what of General Thanatos's plans? What of the heir that bears all his hopes?_**

* * *

**Bloodline Inheritance**

* * *

The tall, solitary figure traveled through the silent, lonely halls. He seemed a world away from his usual self, slouching as he lumbered past the displays of armor and warflags with a distracted look on his face. King Ragnar didn't even seem to care about the guards staring at him questioningly, recognizing him only by his sparkling crown and garish adornments.

Of course, none of them could fathom the pain and horror their superior had experienced just a few moments ago; nor could they possibly understand the turmoil he was under- to see your own life as a one-way tunnel. No matter how fast or slow you would travel through it, it would _always_ end in the same place anyways.

As much as many can deny it or flee from it, the world centers on the universal truth of the end of life.

Death. _His constant companion._

Death. _He knew plenty about his familiar foe._

Death. _Its pawsteps intertwined with his._

It is a force among all living things, without a master and never bowing down to a whim. It's fickle with its agendas, sometimes swift and sometimes drawling. And it is also impatient, never sparing its victims a second longer than it had already planned- after all, it has its own schedule to stick to.

"Your majesty, King Ragnar," a ferret addressed him with a rigid bow, "I bring you news, sire." Immediately, an odd mixture of curiosity, hope, and dread sparked in the weasel's dullened eyes as he gave the soldier his full attention.

"_What_?" he snapped, his heart hammering laboriously.

"Sire," the soldier repeated, fighting the urge to look the king in the eyes, "It has just been announced that General Thanatos's... child was born..." The unfortunate messenger felt his voice dwindle to nothing as he sensed King Ragnar's glare boring down on him.

"You're avoiding the information I want," he growled softly, his tone potent with malice.

"Forgive me, majesty," the ferret bowed again, feeling the beads of sweat stinging his eyes on their downward paths. Ragnar, on the other hand, kept his panic bottled up inside him- something he could later unleash in his private quarters. He swallowed quietly while he controlled his breathing, watching as the messenger's lips started forming words.

To his credit, Ragnar's expressions never betrayed the sheer dread he felt when he heard the words ring loud and true.

"Greymorg has another prince."

* * *

Meanwhile, Thanatos was also in the halls of the castle, though not wandering aimlessly like his brother.

He had a purpose in mind.

Striding past the numerous windows and dull, stretching pillars, he had only one thought drilling itself into his mind: what of Reun? What of his children? If she had borne a son, then Ragnar would be after blood. For that reason only, he had to take extra precautions. Suddenly, he felt a presence fall in step just behind him. Without a backward glance the weasel nodded, beckoning the creature to walk at his side.

Keeping an even pace, he shifted his eyes sideways to look at the beast he had summoned.

"You sent for me, General?" the silver wolf asked, all formalities and reservations evident in his tone.

"Yes I did," Thanatos replied, "And I hope that my messenger reached you at a convenient time."

"Not at all General," came the simple answer, "I was almost done with my meal anyways."

"... Excellent," the weasel replied, grimacing invertedly at the thought of the wolf's meal, his imagination working grisly pictures in his mind: blood and gore scattered on the floor, the twisted remains of the carcasses producing reddened ribcages and sickly substances. At that instant, he quickly brushed these thoughts aside as he continued what he had to say, "Now, I have to discuss some other matters with you."

Fenris kept silent, an indication that he had no objections. Rarely ever did the wolf speak, and when he did, it was only when he was spoken to or when it was about war.

"High-Captain," he began, his pawsteps slowing down to a leisurely pace, "It has been many seasons since you've joined the army of Greymorg, rising in the ranks at a rapid pace. You have been a vital asset in my plans, not only as a scout, but as a strategist as well as an advisor. In addition to those traits, you are also skilled at fighting and keeping the soldiers in line... For your services, I would like to promote you." At that, he stopped and turned to face him, the wolf quickly doing the same.

"Many thanks for your compliments, General," his gruff voice answered, "What are your wishes?"

"High-Captain Fenris," the weasel said in a serious tone, "It has come to my attention that not only are you a brilliant leader, but you are also the beast I trust the most here... besides Reun of course..." He winced inwardly, stabbing himself mentally as he realized his failure to keep up the perfect speech of a leader.

_"This is the hard part..."_ he said to himself, _"Damn it all to hell! I'm beginning to sound more like a beggar..."_

"And with the war going on and the need for an heir, I'm sure that you're aware of the importance of the safety of the royal family," he continued, "Therefore, I want to offer you the position of-"

"I will not be a bodyguard," Fenris interrupted curtly. The weasel faltered for a moment, completely at a loss for words. Finally, he was able to force something out of his throat.

"W-what?" he asked in a choked voice.

"If you are offering me the position of a bodyguard, I must refuse," the wolf replied flatly, his eyes cold and void of emotion. Thanatos inhaled deeply, releasing a sigh as he cleared his mind. Right now, the last thing he needed was to sound desparate- his pride just wouldn't survive it.

"Then what conditions would work best for you?" he asked, his voice hinging on indifference.

"It doesn't matter what rewards you offer me, General," Fenris answered, "It has already been agreed that I will soon travel down South to lead the troops to war. I refuse to stay behind, idly watching over Lieutenant Reun and your offspring."

"But..." the prince said before he caught the needy sound of his voice, forcing it down to something that resembled graceful acceptance, "Are you sure there is nothing I can do to change your mind, High-Captain?" In return, his answer was just one simple word.

"Yes."

It was then that the prince's fragile, even-tempered facade broke into a thousand pieces.

"What are you then?!" Thanatos hissed, "A _coward_?! Is that what you are? Too afraid to face my brother?"

"... No," the wolf replied stoically, "It's simply because I want my place in the battlefield, not watching over your family. If you desire their protection, General, then you should assign another beast... or maybe watch over them yourself."

Once more, the prince inhaled deeply, struggling desperately to keep his voice as cool and accepting as he could. He didn't know how much help it could do, since he had already lost his temper once and he was now slowly losing his grip by the second. However, his efforts paid off as he managed to say something that didn't resemble an outburst.

"Then... then you're dismissed," the weasel swallowed. The wolf then gave a small bow of his head as he continued on his way, leaving Thanatos to his troubling thoughts.

_"But Fenris is the ideal subordinate- obedient, loyal, respectful, commited, intelligent... And he's never done this before... and I can't force him to take this position. Whatever beast that's doing this has to be somebeast I can trust... somebeast that I have confidence in... but Fenris was the only one who fit that role... what does he want? Who _can_ I trust?!"_

* * *

Somewhere on the other side of the royal palace, somebeast else was about to recieve news.

The halls were well-guarded, torches ablaze in every corner while diligent soldiers stood by a large set double doors. Except for the subtle whisperings of the crackling flames, all was still until a loud ear-shattering scream swept through the air- a sound as disturbing as nails scraping crookedly against glass.

The soldiers jumped in response, gripping their weapons nervously. Still as statues, they stood their ground, poised for battle, counting the heartbeats that passed.

One.

Two.

Three.

There was a collective sigh of relief as each guard came to a more relaxed position, convinced that it was only Lady Reun. However, despite this knowledge that it wasn't an intruder making the blood-curdling noise, they still felt unnerved by the obvious agony that the cries carried out. There was another short, blissful silence as the vermin flicked their gaze to each other, and then finally, there was a new, thin wail from behind the doors.

A new life has come into the world.

* * *

Lying in her bed and drenched in sweat, Reun drew in a long, difficult breath. The birth this time had been more difficult than the last, stretching on for almost two days. But it was now over- it was now _finally_ over. She panted as she strained her eyes against the dim candlelight, watching Sigma turn her back to her, carrying a tiny wailing bundle in her arms. Through weary, half-lidded eyes, she battled the fatigue that threatened to consume her consciousness.

_No... stay awake... stay... awake... My Lord has told me to watch after it..._

She then felt the cold fear grip her heart as she recalled what her husband had told her before he left for the war meetings:

_"Remember Reun, we have enemies here in Greymorg... such as my brother. They'll do everything in their power to stop us from gaining any sort of power... whether it be through poison, assassination, or maybe even by switching newborns from right under our noses. It is your duty, as is mine, to ensure that our son is safe. Our future as rulers hinge on this very child..."_

Of course, Thanatos could never be sure of whether the newborn was male or not, but he was in high hopes as he said this. Sluggishly, the weasel shifted under the cloying sheets in an effort to see past the healer's shoulder. The snow fox spun around, the bloodied weaselbabe still in her arms.

"My Lady, please lay down," the soothsayer instructed. At that, Reun obliged to stay still, relief flooding over her as she saw heard the her baby give another high-pitched mewl. Satisfied, Sigma turned around and continued washing the infant with a gentle cloth.

"Prince Thanatos would be proud," she commented as she wiped its forehead, "You two finally have son- a fine, healthy one at that."

Reun smiled at her accomplishment. A future prince at last!

"I want..." she swallowed dryly, "I want to hold him..."

"Of course, My Lady," the soothsayer replied, "In a moment." Slowly, Reun nodded in understanding, more than content to lay down and watch her infant from afar. Wiping her forehead with a trembling arm, the weasel listened to the hushed quiet of the room: the tiny sloshing sounds resonating in the air, mingling with the thin gurgling whimpers of her child. And then there were footsteps.

Drying off the last patches of fur on the baby's head, Sigma approached her, the precious bundle squirming in her arms. Swaddled in a warm blanket, the infant was lowered to his mother's grasp, whimpering some more final complaints before he settled back to sleep.

Instantly, Reun felt some sense of pride swell up within her heart. She smiled as she clutched its little form to her chest, delighted at the sight of her newborn. It amazed her how emotional she became when she held her children for the first time. Most beasts would have guessed that something so little that caused such excruciating pain would only incur the wrath of its mother.

Whether it was because of their helpless appearance, their neat little splotches of a nose, their peaceful closed eyes under their gently-curved brows, their tiny paws that reached out wantingly, the fact that they was once one with her, or maybe just maternal instinct, Reun had felt an immense sense of delight glow in her heart whenever she looked at them.

Just then, the heavy wooden door slipped open, revealing the form of a weasel. At first, Reun kept up her smile, more than happy to introduce her mate to his son, but the sheer joy she had felt suddenly mutated to fear as she recognized the figure standing at the door.

King Ragnar.

"Congratulations," he smiled, clapping his paws in a slow, sporting manner, "I just recieved word about the little princeling, so I decided to come in to see my little nephew and welcome him to the world." Despite his polite and cheerful announcement, Reun could easily see past his facade, practically feeling the sinister force of his intentions with every step he took. She held her breath as she hugged her infant closer to her, watching as the Demon King waltzed across the room.

"Your Majesty," Sigma bowed her head in a formal manner, "I'm afraid that Prince Thanatos has ordered that nobeast is allowed in here." Immediately, Ragnar's charming features contorted into something of vile contempt as he answered her.

"_Prince_ Thanatos commanded that, yes," he wrinkled his nose as he pointed at the glistening crown situated on his head, "But I, _King_ Ragnar, feel like visiting. Now. Get. Out!" Sigma opened her mouth to say something, probably in protest, but wisdom swept in just in time.

"A-as you wish, Your Radiance," she nodded as she bustled out the door.

"And shut the door behind you!" the weasel snapped. With haste, the vixen did as she was bid, not bothering to glance back before the exit shut with a sickening _thud_. At once, Reun felt panic rise in her throat, sensing as if the room had suddenly become darker- the joy sucked right out of the air.

"So, Lady Reun," Ragnar turned his gaze back towards her, that fake, charming grin plastered on his face, "How did the birth go? Painful but worth it, I suppose." He took a couple strides closer, watching Reun's face turn ashen as he arrived at her side, standing over her so he could easily see the tiny face of the weaselbabe.

"Looks just like his father, eh?" he chortled, pointing a claw at the sleeping bundle, "And speaking of his father, just where is he right now? If he suddenly screamed right now, do you think he could hear you from his War Chambers? Hm?"

Reun stiffened at the questions, words, answers, and fears crowding around her mind. She immediately felt protective rage surging up to her mouth, but out of fear of enraging the king, she forced herself to remain stubbornly silent.

Then, the weaselwife shivered as she noticed the king's paw reaching forward- downwards to the infant. At a moment's instant, she was facing sideways, holding her baby away from the abomination behind her, glaring at him with such fierce conviction that even _he_ seemed shocked.

Slowly, he regained his composure, stepping backwards, both palms facing her in a non-threatening gesture.

"Easy. Easy now," he said in a soothing, almost _joking_ voice, "Wasn't going to hurt a member of my own _family_."

"My apologies, Your Highness," she swallowed audibly through tight lips, still holding up her guard.

_**THUD!**_

All eyes turned to face the door, only to be greeted by the sight of an enraged weasel- his armor glistening, his shoulders squared, his teeth bared, and his frame casting a shadow into the room. Instantly, the infant began to scream and wail at the frightening sound, but everybeast ignored his screeching protests.

"_Ragnaaaar_," he growled through clenched teeth, stomping across the room, "What are you doing here?"

"Simply here to visit the young prince, little brother... and congratulations," the king replied in an airy tone.

"Get out! _Out_!" Thanatos shouted, seeming to tower over his brother, "I said OUT! And don't you _ever_ come near them ever again!"

For just less than a second, Reun could have sworn that there was a glimmer of sheer hatred in King Ragnar's eyes before he blinked.

"Hm... very well little brother," he shrugged before he made his way to the entrance, "I'll leave you and your mate to revel in your latest treasure... but remember," he turned around, as if his next statement was merely an after-thought, "It would be a shame if something should ever happen to a perfectly healthy infant such as this one."

"GET! OUT!" Thanatos yelled, hurling a silver cup out the door only to hear it clang against the adjacent wall. It would have done no use anyways, since Ragnar was already gone by the time Thanatos had even found its weapon.

For a few moments, silence almost completely shrouded them, the only noise being the infant's crying. Ragnar panted as he stood next to his wife, staring at the door as if it was the very culprit that produced these enemies. Reun, on the other hand, stayed quiet and numb as she fell back to a lying position, feeling the warm body of the babe press against her.

With a shudder, she thought of Ragnar- how sinister and cunning he was. Hearing the irritated weaselbabe slowly drift back to its peaceful slumber, she called to mind one incident she had witnessed with Ragnar not too long ago. Reun had been pregnant with her second child at that time, and although Thanatos had told her that she needed to focus on the unborn child, she had insisted that every now and then she should check on Reis, her daughter...

_Her stomach feeling uncomfortable and bloated, Reun walked through the royal halls, unaccompanied by anybeast. She could already feel the little burden inside her shifting about in her womb, kicking and squirming- growing impatient._

_As she reached the entrance to Reis's nursery, she noticed the guards standing nervously to attention, sweat gathering on their foreheads and their throats bobbing noticably as they swallowed. Fear instilled in her as she opened the door slightly, peeking inside through a crack. What she saw startled her._

_It was Ragnar, in all his full regalia, leaning against the plush nursery walls. An amused smile seemed to hover about his lips as he observed the oblivious little weaselbabe in front of him. He even seemed to chuckle to himself as the babe began gurgling and cooing to herself, tumbing about on the cushioned floors- oblivious to the evil around her._

_And that was when Reun entered the room._

_Instantly, both beasts turned to stare at her, but the weasel only glared at Ragnar as she scooped Reis up in her arms. _

_"Ah," he said in a care-free response, "How good it is to see you. I was just wandering around when I noticed this room, so I decided to drop by to see how my little niece was doing. Hm... I suppose I should go then..." With a sly wink, he slipped out of the room, leaving the door ajar._

_Reun heaved a heavy sigh, feeling all that pent-up air brush her lips as she placed her daughter back on the ground. Deep inside her, she felt a sudden sense of dread hit her in the pit of her stomach. This was no simple visit based on a whim. This was a warning- a _threat_- from King Ragnar himself. How long had he been coming here? How long had he been endangering her daughter? And if her next child was a male, how far would the king go, just to ensure his rightful place on the throne?_

"Reun..."

She looked up to see Thanatos standing over her protectively, his expression a mix of worry and intense hatred.

"Yes M'lord?"

"How long was he here?" he asked, "What did he say to you?"

Reun glanced away, feeling so exhausted all of a sudden.

"Not much," she replied, her voice not missing a note of scorn, "But I could definately tell that the vermin had no good intentions on his mind."

"I expected he would be like this," the general nodded, "He's scared not only for his place on the throne, but also for his very life." Reun only stared at the ceiling, both arms resting on the weaselbabe's back, feeling it rise and fall with every precious breath.

With a empty sigh, the Ice General leaned against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest as he continued the words he'd rehearsed in his head.

"I'm sure you know of the Basilisk... and I'm sure that you know that only the firstborn son of the king could ever keep control of it. It's part of some ancient pact since the founding of Greymorg, see. And at one point, it skipped my mo- I mean, Queen Narsca's generation, since her uncle had died of some sickness at a young age. Should Ragnar die, I'll surely become ruler, though I'll never be able to control the Basilisk... No, I'm not the firstborn," he paused here, staring at the ground for a moment before his head shot back up, a look of renewed confidence in his features.

"But when I'm king, this child will be able to control the monster... only when it's grown older, of course. But right now, Ragnar has a reason to kill us all..." his brows furrowed together as he contemplated their situation, "Our war over the throne is becoming worse and worse, and to my brother, I'm winning because I have an heir now. Not to mention, he won't have a purpose to the kingdom anymore once our son is of age."

"And he's only alive now because you need him for your war," Reun said in a tired voice, "But why did he let you live, M'lord? What purpose do you have for him?"

"Simply because I'm doing all his work," Thanatos shrugged, "Of all things, he hates having responsibilities... that and the fact that he's not even a competent ruler."

Suddenly, he felt something warm clutch at his paw. Alarmed, he looked down to see his wife's desparate face looking up to him, her eyes pleading and restless as words bubbled out of her mouth.

"Please M'lord," she said in a whisper, "He may have a reason to spare you, but not the rest of the royal family. He's threatening our very existence- plotting against us as we speak. Please, for me, just kill him now and post-pone your war just for a few seasons- just as long as it takes for our son to control the Basilisk. Such a move would not only ensure our victory, but our survival as well. Please, _please_ consider it, sire."

For a few seconds, Thanatos was motionless, staring down at his wife with a thoughtful look. Finally, he sighed, but to Reun's dismay, it wasn't a sign of agreement. Slowly, he slipped his paw out of her grasp as he answered her, not bearing to look her in the eye.

"I don't think I can wait any longer Reun," his voice sounded hoarse and brittle now, "Sigma has already foretold that now is the time for battle- the era of victory for us. With the entire kingdom riled up for war and the fact that the seasons have been particularly kind to us during the harvests, I don't think there is any better time. We've even sent out some of the troops already! And even if we call them back, there's still no telling if our son would live for much longer... and even _that_ ancient lizard can't last forever either. What would happen... do you think, if we killed Ragnar, but our son died as well? That would be a _whole generation _of opportunity that passes us by. We can't take our chances, Reun, absolutely not! We have to guard his life with our own, and hope that he survives Ragnar's attacks."

"But M'lord," she insisted, "Forget whatever nonsense that vixen says! All her predictions and prophecies are false and always have been! Who do you believe, that snow vixen or your own mate? If you truly loved me as much as you claimed those seasons before, then you would surely show it now. Prove it, sire. Listen to my advice and heed to it!" The prince stood still, drinking in her words, feeling his determination sway slightly. But slowly, hesitantly, he shook his head again.

"I'm sorry, Reun," he replied as he knelt down to her level, "But I swear to you, I'll protect the both of you; I'll never let Ragnar hurt you or our son. And I swear that I'll get this war over with as quick as I can so we can get rid of my brother and get on with our lives- see our son grow up to be king someday."

Reun looked away from him then, refusing to meet his gaze, her eyes glistening with hurt, betrayal, and most of all, _fear_. She heard her mate sigh again, a frustrated sigh this time. She felt his paw against her forehead as he spoke, as if she were simply a stubborn child with irrational arguments.

"It's alright," he said in a regretful, yet soothing tone, "I'm still here for you. I always keep my word to you, after all..." his voice faltered as he realized that she wasn't willing to speak to him, "... You need your rest... I'll get Sigma to tend to you."

She closed her eyes as she heard him make his exit. There was a hush in the air as she counted the moments of silence, and then the door opened, Sigma rushing in to complete the duties that her prince had given her.

"I'll take the infant now, My Lady," she said as she scooped the princeling from his mother's limp arms.

"...And by the way," she said as an afterthought, placing the precious bundle in its crib, settling him in between the soft linen, "Have you two decided on his name yet?"

"No," Reun said in a muffled voice, pulling the sheets over her head as she rolled to her side, "Obviously My Lord doesn't care enough to give him a name... he's just a weapon in his eyes... a tool of destruction."

"My Lady," Sigma spoke up, her voice a sticky, sweet sound, "I'm sure that My Lord doesn't think so low of his very own son." A few heartbeats passed, and except for a few soft whimpering sounds from the infant, all was in silence.

"Ah well..." the healer soothed, her voice almost a mockery of concern, "Then what do you want to name him?"

"Thade..." a whisper answered from beneath the covers, "I want to name him Thade..."

"Then Thade it is... a fine name for the prince," the fox's voice said, penetrating the barrier of blankets that cloaked the weasel. To Reun, she couldn't help but imagine the soothsayer's eyes glinting evilly as she smiled and exited the room.

_"As far as I'm concerned, everybeast around me is an enemy. Even Thanatos isn't willing to listen... So who can I trust now? What can I expect from Ragnar?... Dare I assassinate him?"_ she felt the chilling grip of fear clutch her heart as the daring thought entered her mind, _"Dare I dare kill him against My Lord's orders? What should I do...?"_

* * *

Somewhere off the coasts of the Northern wastelands, the seas were tumultous, sending rushes of pure-white seafoam scattering across the decks of the ships. The winds, yet another element of this forbidden realm, battered the sails this way and that, threatening to rip them to shreds. But however hard the tempests bellowed, the vast armada would not fall to them.

This was no average cloister of sailboats. The vermin that manned these sails and worked the oars were not inexperienced, as they had weathered these same gray skies and fickle conditions for numerous days now.

Somewhere nestled on the ship, there was one single luxury kept specifically for the leader- a simple cabin sitting in the center of the deck. There, the lynx commander Nyara Reaverclaw waited, her mind clouding over with thoughts of smouldering hatred, revenge, and triumph.

The cabin was completely dark except for a single candle flame nailed to the spot on her table. Somehow, it managed to hold its own against the darkness, illuminating the shadows to reveal her form bent over a map of the sea, trying to decifer its many splotches of symbols.

She hissed in frustation, her tail lashing to and fro as she raked her razor-sharp claws against the wooden table face, rendering three other deep gashes on its unfortunate, rough-worn surface.

There came a sharp knock at the door.

Immediately, she sprang up to answer it, fumbling over the locks, and more than eager for good news. She squinted her eyes as the grey light rushed in, her pupils narrowing to dangerous slits.

"Commander Nyara," a voice said with an edge of excitement.

"What is it?" she asked, swiping the confusion off her face as she looked down at the figure she couldn't yet identify. He looked to her like some shadow, a dark mass without a face. Slowly, the light seemed to dim before she recognized it for a searat.

"Good news! The coast has been sighted!" he piped up with a swift salute.

"Excellent work," she beamed as she strode across the deck, her eyes quickly adapting to the lighting. Upon reaching the sides, she leapt on top of the railing with all the natural grace of her kind, holding on to a steady rope with one paw while the other shielded her vision as she scanned the horizon.

"Ha!" she grinned, leaning forward at a precarious angle, "I see it, alright!" At that, she turned back to the searat, who was rubbing his paws together in anticipation.

"Good work all of you!" she yelled, knowing full well that the rest of the crew was listening in, "Tonight, everybeast celebrates with rum! Spread the word! All- You- Can- Driiiink!" There was a tremor ringing in the air as the corsairs raised their fists to the skies, whooping and cheering at the announcement. The word spread quickly then, almost as fast as the waves that rammed themselves against the wildcat's armada. The crew would be in high spirits tonight.

However, the one creature that wouldn't join in on the celebrations stood stock-still on the railings, still staring out at the shady speck in the distance. Upon recollection of her purpose here, she purred viciously as her eyes narrowed. With small, slow movements, she clenched and unclenched her paws, her scizor-like claws pricking small indentations in her skin.

_"Just you wait, you filthy weasels. Enjoy your rule over Greymorg while you can, for revenge will be mine for the taking!"_

* * *

**Chapter Summary: _Weighted down by the prospects of an early death, Ragnar broods over his life. Meanwhile, Thanatos is trying to make a deal with High-Captain Fenris, asking him to be Reun's bodyguard, since he knows that if his kid's a boy, Ragnar is going to try to kill his family. However, Fenris refuses because he wants to go to a battlefield. This leaves Thanatos in a difficult situation, since he really doesn't know who to trust now._**

**_Meanwhile, Reun gives birth to a boy and is already very attached to him. And just when she was holding him, King Ragnar shows up. Although not showing any signs of violence, he does stress her out on purpose. And then, Thanatos steps in just in time, scaring Ragnar off. Left alone, Thanatos and Reun discuss their future and the war. Reun wants Ragnar dead, since he poses a huge threat to her and her children, but Thanatos refuses because he needs Ragnar to win the war. His mate then suggests that they kill the king and post-pone the war until their son is old enough. However, Thanatos still disagrees, claiming that this is the best time to strike and that there's always that chance that their son could die, leaving a whole generation without the Basilisk as a weapon._**

**_This is because only the firstborn prince is able to control the Basilisk, according to an ancient pact that bound the lizard to servitude. If Thanatos becomes king and his firstborn son suddenly dies (infants die unexpectedly sometimes), then the Basilisk would be virtually useless in war, since it can't be controlled. Reun was really hurt and betrayed by his inability to comply with her needs and although Thanatos full-heartedly expressed his concern for her and swore to protect her she still wasn't satisfied. She now considers killing Ragnar, but is conflicted because she doesn't know if she could pull it off without Thanatos finding out._**

**_Then, somewhere out over the sea, Commander Nyara Reaverclaw sets her vengeful eyes on Greymorg..._**

* * *

**Well I'm pretty proud of this chapter. I mean, I kinda think I did pretty good with the detail. I know what a lot of you are thinking, that Thanatos and Reun seem too much like goodbeasts, but think about it for a sec. **

**Unlike most warlords, Thanatos actually cares about his wife (I don't really like the term "mate", since it kinda de-humanizes the vermin), and Reun (pronounced Roon) cares a lot about her kids. I think the whole Thanatos-Reun thing is really quite sweet, since vermin really should have some particularly strong bond/friendship/relationship between each other. I honestly don't think it's right to make _all_ the vermin such evil back-stabbers and I really do enjoy making characters more in-depth other than vermin who only kill just for the fun of it. They have feelings, dreams, and weaknesses too, you know. **

**By the way, I bet you're all dying to know how Ragnar got that sickness (it's not based on a real sickness that I'm aware of). It's actually quite shocking and adds a bit more to his character. Stick around for that because I'll get to that eventually, just like how I'll get around to the interesting stories about how Reun & Thanatos met, Sigma's past, the origins of Greymorg, etc. Yes, these guys are _so_ much more complicated to write about, since there's a lot of conspiracy involved and I want to explain the strategies and implications involved.**

**And I'm throwing another character to the mix?! Yup, I've got a whole bunch of characters to introduce to you still, so keep track of them (that's why I'm going SO painfully slow). Nyara's name is pronounced (Nai-ah-rah or it can be Nyeh-rah). Call her what you like, but I'm interested in which pronounciation you guys prefer. She'll be important to the story. And guess what, she's backed by an army and she doesn't seem to be an ally of Greymorg's... hm... and just why does she want revenge against them anyways?**

**Thade's name is actually the word "Death" with the words switched around. If any of you guys have played a game on Neopets called "Eliv Thade" (evil death), you know what I'm talking about. As for Reis, Thanatos's toddler daughter, she's named after the Greek Goddess of Chaos called Eris (switch the letters around). She's best-known for causing the Trojan War, and she can also be seen in the Sinbad animated movie. Her name is pronounced like "rays", which sounds a lot like the word "Raze", which means to destroy. I love putting meanings in names, can't you tell? ;P**

**Alright, so please Please PLEASE _PLEASE PLEASE REVIEW!!!_ Tell me all that's on your mind. Are you confused? Do you like the pacing? Are the chapters too long? etc. I really appreciate any feedback from you, whether it be suggestions (name suggestions needed), questions, comments, corrections, predictions, constructive criticism, etc. If you have any good questions or comments, I'll post them up on the next chapter's Q and A. **

**For those of you who don't review, I'll just assume that you're _so_ impressed by my story that it has left you speechless, heh. ;P Just kidding, but thanks for reading anyways.**


	32. A Darkening Sky

**Sorry for the delay this time. I hope you guys had a nice Thanksgiving. I gained like, 2 lbs. Haha... how sad. ;( **

**OK, so I didn't think I was able to finish, but my parents went on a Black Friday shopping spree so I was able to work peacefully. This is a fillerish chapter, to some extent, so I didn't work as hard with this chapter. But even though this is fillery, there are some sprinkles of hints and background here (Keetch's background is revealed a bit). ;)**

**Special thanks to all who reviewed over the past week: Red Squirrel Writer, Fwirl of Redwall, Martin the Warrior (anonymous), Awsomewriter123, Jarrtail, MangaHottie740, DPBCLover, Foeseeker, Kylyn, Reynoi, and Cinnamonpool. Thanks you guys. **

**And now for Q & A**

**Kylyn: Actually, I don't know what kind of sickness the Plague was. It was just some random sickness I made up but never got to the point of naming. But yes, to some extent, it is very similar to the Dry-ditch fever. Nice catch with that. :)**

**DPBCLover (reviewed Chapter 29): You're the only one to actually point out that Queen Narsca really did love Ragnar- and then he killed her. Ironic, isn't it?**

**Foeseeker: Well, I'll speed it up a _little_, but don't expect this to be done within 50 chapters like BJ's books. I'm going for a super-epic story. I hope my ambition doesn't go overboard though.**

**Martin the Warrior: Thanks or reviewing (and for reviewing my other story). Reun and Thanatos too nice? Well, I guess it's true that I portrayed them as the good guys in the last chapter. However, their sweet little moment was only between them. I'm sure that they don't act so nice towards anybeast else. **

**Red Squirrel Writer: An excellent reviewer. If anyone needs a little more insight, this guy has written great in-depth reviews for a lot of my chapters so you could look at them if you're confused or something. You can contact me too, of course. And anyways, Red Squirrel Writer, sorry the introduction for Nyara was a little rushed. I just didn't know where else to introduce her. But yes, she is going to effect the course of the story BIG TIME. Oh, and by the way, thanks for recommending me George R.R. Martin's A Game of Thrones (just started it and I already like it). If my next chapter isn't up by next week, it's because of YOU. XD**

**Wow, that little segment was shorter than usual. I'm just going to say that maybe it was because of my awesome summarizing skills at the end of each chapter. XD**

* * *

**A Darkening Sky**

* * *

The fire glowed softly in the small clearing, the shadows of two beasts stretched out along the ground. At first glance, one would think that they were a small family on a little outing in the woods. Of course, this impression is far from the truth, since the pair had a relationship more similar to that of a criminal and a hostage. However, it would be easy to assume that they were a friendly pair, since the little rabbit seemed to be in a wonderful mood.

It was the first campfire for her, since Keetch insisted that they remain unnoticed by everybeast. However, he had to relent this time, since he had managed to catch three fish in his net and was in the mood for a hot meal. And at the moment, the potential vittles were skewered on sticks, roasting over the open fire.

Clove had a look of intense concentration on her face as she scooted closer to the crackling fire. The night air was cold and damp due to the previous drizzle, and she couldn't help but feel comforted by the warmth emanating from it. She leaned forward, her paws reaching out towards the playful tongues of flame that waved in the air.

A little closer...

And her paw jolted backwards in shock as she felt a glow of pain on her fingers. She held her paw close to her face, inspecting it carefully. Her fingers were very warm to the touch, but other than that, not even a singed fur. With a look of apprehension, she held her paws up to the warming fire, this time keeping a more respectful distance.

Thoughtfully, she looked back at her master, who sat next to her. Sitting on the ground with his knees drawn up to his chin, he gazed at the burning sticks he'd dumped in the fire, lost in thought.

Clove smiled as she immitated his position, staring ahead in the flames, wondering what Keetch was thinking about. She remembered the first day she saw him, the way he seemed almost... scared... and sad...

She had never seen anybeast other than Old Master back then, and she was naturally curious to know him. Where did he come from? Did he have a slave too? How long was he going to stay? She also remembered, just faintly, that she came close to him that day, only to be scared away from Old Master. But he never moved a finger against her, or _said_ anything, anyways. Instead, he just looked at her with mild curiosity... and something else... was it pity...?

_Did Master like Slave...?_

She looked up from her thoughts, noticing the snow fox finally move. Carefully, he plucked the fish out of the fire, scrutinizing each of the steaming, brown shapes as his stomach growled eagerly. Satisfied at his work, he took the smallest fish in his other paw, holding it out to the rabbit. She stared at the gesture, tilting her head curiously as he looked at her expectantly.

"What are you waiting for?" he snapped, "Just take it!"

"Y-y-yes Master," she stammered hurriedly as she accepted her gift gingerly.

"It's hot, so eat slowly," he instructed tersely as he blew on the steaming fish, "And I told you to stop calling me that."

"Clove's gracious, Keetch," she mumbled as she inspected the sizzling fish, the blackened skin making crackling and hissing sounds. Then she switched her attention to her master, watching him blow at the fish, making the curling wisps of smoke vanish in the night air. Slowly, she did the same, except in tiny, stoccato breaths. She smiled shyly as she did so, reveling in the difference of her lifestyle- how much freedom she had.

She got to see the world now- be a part of it instead of imagining all its splendors from the recesses of a cave. And to add to that, she was in the services of a better master now. Absent-mindedly, she turned to look at him, though he seemed to catch her expression.

"What are _you_ smilin' at?" he asked with disdain. In a blink, the slave's eyes had darted to her fish and her mouth was already forming an apology.

"Clove's sorry, Keetch," she murmered. He huffed, and then moved on to eating his fish in quiet. Awkward, Clove did the same, picking at the fish's head with her teeth, mindful of the steam brushing against her nose and filling her mouth. Slowly, she sank her teeth down on one of the glaring eye sockets, feeling the skull crunch under her jaws. However, it seemed as if everything she did upset her master.

"What are you doing?!" he hissed. She jumped at the sound of his voice, spinning around to see him.

"That's disgusting," he wrinkled his nose as he pointed his fish's stick at her meal, "Eat the _sides_, not the head."

"The... sides?" she repeated, prodding the fish's fleshy underbelly with a claw, "But Clove always ate da heads."

"Well I told you to stop eating it," he replied pointedly, "I don't want to see you eating brains and eyeballs. It's just plain disgusting."

"Yes Keetch," she whispered dejectedly as she nibbled at the soft flesh. It tasted far better than the scraps she used to be fed- cold fish heads, bitter herbs, over-ripe fruits and vegetables, and the like. Of course, ever since she had been traveling with her new master, fresh fruits had been added to the list, though she never had anything as filling as this. Immediately, she hungered for more and wolfed it down, regardless of the heat.

In a flash, all that was left of her food were thin, jutting bones with little tufts of white flesh clinging to them. With a satisfied smack of her lips, she swiped her tongue over her mouth, followed by the back of her paw doing a more thorough job.

"Eating just like a hare."

Immediately, she turned to Keetch's voice, the strange statement hanging in the air between them. He gave her a swift sideways look as he took a hungry bite of his fish, as if he wanted to drop the conversation right there. However, his slave wasn't yet willing to let him be.

"Keetch, what's a hare, Keetch?" she asked in a wavering voice.

"Another kind of goodbeast," he answered tersely as he swallowed his mouthful, "Looks a lot like a rabbit... eats everything it sees."

She nodded at this, trying to picture what it looked like. With what her master said, she constructed a strange picture of a morbidly fat, long-eared beast with a grotesquely wide mouth, its saliva dribbling out of it in syrupy strands. She shuddered at the thought of it.

_"_That's _a goodbeast?"_ she gulped mentally.

_Sssssshhhhhh..._

Suddenly, the fire's playful nature was snuffed out of its breath, suffocating under the layer of dirt that the snow fox had kicked over it. With a hiss, a final wisp of smoke spouted into the air, floating upwards before the light died out.

"We'll rest now," she heard his voice in the dark, "And we'll continue in the morning."

She nodded her agreement, just realizing that he wasn't able to hear her anyways.

"And this time, you'll have the first watch tonight," he commanded, "Just listen and watch for vermin. If anything happens, wake me up. And _don't _fall asleep, understood?"

"Yes Keetch," she squeaked in compliance, wondering how well she'd complete her new task. Usually her master was the one to stay awake during the night while she slept, and during the afternoon, he would take his turn to sleep while she kept her eyes sharp for danger. Of course, it made their journey slacken to what her master called a "snail's pace", but it was safe all the same. And now, he seemed to be tiring at this schedule.

She heard a mild shuffling sound- the sound of Keetch's cloak being adjusted over his body. And then she heard nothing but the bubbling, gurgling sounds of the gentle stream nearby. Somehow, the rhythmic sound soothed her nerves and she was more than happy to relax.

She sighed as she leaned her back against a tree, staring up at the just-waning moon in the sky. A halo of silver seemed to encircle it, and the stars seemed to smile down on them despite the thin fabrics of clouds that loomed closer to them. She brought her arms up, pretending that the sky was simply a canvas, and that she could just simply reach up and pluck the gems out of it.

It had been quite a number of days since they'd left the cave, and Clove had no idea where they were going. Her master had kept that much a secret from her. At first she speculted that they were heading to another cave. Of course, it wasn't an idea that appealed to her, yet who was she to complain? After all, she was only a mere slave.

And then days passed them by, and she saw all the wonders of the world unfurl right before her eyes. Wildflowers yawned their salutes to the sky with vibrant colors, and birds would make the sweetest sounds as they soared among the trees. But of all things, she was happy that Keetch was with her.

He knew everything about the way the world worked and what thins were called. And he was always the one who dug up roots and picked berries, instructing her with vital knowledge of which berries were ripe and which roots were good nourishment. And most of all, she enjoyed the fact that he included her in his plans for meeting the goodbeasts. In her head, she entertained the possibilities of what would happen during her crucial role.

_Crishcrish- crishcrish... crishcrish..._

Her ears pricked up at the unfamiliar, high-pitched sounds that seemed to echo all around her. She shivered and held her breath a second of rest came between the sounds, and then the noise started all over again.

"Master! Keetch! Keetch!" she whispered as she stumbled to him. She latched on to him, tugging at his cloak in hopes to wake him.

"What, what? What is it?!" he mumbled irritably as he sat up.

"I hear something, Keetch!" she whispered urgently, allowing a moment of quiet so he could hear the noise too.

"Is it vermin?" she piped up.

"Ugh! NO!" he hissed, "Just crickets, stupid! Now leave me alone!" At that, he snatched his sleeve from her grasp, hearing her whimper pitifully in response.

"But Master..." But he was already lying on the ground, facing away from her.

She made a soft whining sound as she scooted back to her spot, her knees covering half her face as she stared out at the willowy figures of trees, imagining them closing in on her. And then the annoying cricket noise sounded again, almost mocking this time. Again, she made another whining sound.

"Be quiet!" he snapped.

"Master..." she pleaded in a high-pitched voice, "Can Clove sit next to you...? Clove's scared..."

There was another second of silence, and the little rabbit was beginning to think that he probably hadn't heard her. And then it came to her surprise that he answered her at all, muttering his consent.

"... If you must." With that, he pulled his cloak over his ears, as if that could shield his sense of hearing from her voice. Immediately, Clove was at his side, beaming. But despite being thrilled, she was careful to respect his personal boundaries, never getting close enough that she might touch him.

* * *

His cheek resting on his knuckles, Tarka leafed through the pages upon pages of Record entries. It was something he did in the night and couldn't fall asleep. Random messages from the distant past seemed to have that kind of effect on him. Gripping a bunch of pages between his thumb and claw, he watched the neat handwriting flip across the book until he stopped at a random entry.

_"Ah,"_ he thought to himself, _"Looks like an interesting one..."_

From the Records of Redwall Abbey taken Twelve Seasons Ago:

_It seems as if young Bartholomelo (Melo, as he likes to be called now) has taken a turn for the best. Not only has his fever gone down, but all of his symptoms are gone now. And not only that, but it seems as if the entire abbey's population has been faring much better. No deaths this week, which is already a big turning point. However, little Infirmary Keeper Mirril seems to be on the cautious side, keeping everybeast in quarantine, just in case._

_I pity that child, having lost her mother so recently and at such a young age, but she has been putting a very brave face for everybeast. She even denies any credit, only claiming that she only did the little things- giving simple medicines, distributing food and water, etc. Hm, little does she know that such simple acts of kindness go long ways. _

_And as for poor Sister Wayrin, she sits with her son Melo and stares out the window all day, resting all her sadness on an elbow. It's been a nearly one month since her husband, Brother Bartholomew, was supposed to return home with a cure. Like everybeast, she's keeping her chin up, though my heart goes out to her. _

_Oh, and by the way, it seems as if Major Linette and the badgerlady Meles have decided to stay here at Redwall longer than intended. I see they've grown accustomed to the food here. Haha. Well, they've been a tremendous help in bringing the abbeybeasts back to their footpaws. Oh, I hear that hare sprinting down the halls. It can only mean that it's supper-time._

_Recorder of Redwall Abbey,  
Quimby_

He shrugged as he finished the entry, a question weighing in on his mind. He, among the other beasts, was aware that Melo's father was long-gone. It almost seemed as if he ere a dead-beast whose name nobody liked to bring up, as if he met a dishonorable end. Of course, this wasn't the case. Everybeast knew that. However, it was for Melo that his name had been silenced.

Tarka supposed that it was a sensitive subject for Melo to talk about because he never actually knew him well. In fact, he couldn't even remember a time when Melo even mentioned him, only referring him as "he" when he couldn't avoid mentioning the subject.

_"Maybe that's why he's so fixated on the way of the warrior,"_ the otter contemplated, drawing an image of a simplistic flower on the corner of a piece of paper, _"Because his father failed a quest... hm... I suppose he feels like he ought to make it up... or prove that he's better than him...?"_ At that thought, he sighed, wondering if his logic was sound. But then again, sometimes the truth could be twisted in some of the strangest of ways. Suddenly, he felt a little ashamed.

_"And who am I to put my nose in Melo's business? What's the point of going through his pasts like this and intruding on his own privacy... even if it is a public record...? Ugh... I should just mind my own business." _And with that, he jumped down from his slender stool and started shifting through the numerous texts on the orderly shelves.

There.

With a gentle claw, he eased the dusty red book from its tight space, and in a moment, it was resting on the pedastal, waiting to speak its knowledge. Tarka flipped open the cover, noting the yellowed edges of the paper. He then parted it from the middle, turning page after page, this way and that, until he came upon the very entry he wanted. An old piece of the past recorded eight seasons ago.

_It seems as if the newest member of Skipper's holt isn't yet over his parents' deaths. It has been nearly a month since he'd arrived and he still keeps to himself, silent as usual. Of course, everybeast's been trying to coax some conversation out of him, but he won't utter a word about what happened. It's understandable, really. Nobeast would ever want to remember such a thing. _

_I think it bothers Skipper that he's met a dibbun that "doesn't like him". Well, I'm sure that isn't the case, since young Tarka doesn't seem to want to talk to anybeast just yet. Makes me wonder what horrors he saw that made him this way. Ah well, but Skipper's been patient with him, talking to him even though he knows he wouldn't get an answer anyways. But even worse than his silence is his appetite. The cagey thing would have to be convinced to eat at least a slice of bread a day. That sort of behavior really is disheartening._

_Just the other day, Skipper tried to introduce him to the other dibbuns. Surprisingly, the troublesome duo, Melo and Sarrow don't seem to take well to his presence. Now mind, they don't bully him; they ignore him. I hope that with time they become close- thick as thieves, you might say. But I can't imagine Tarka's loneliness right now..._

Tarka stopped reading right there as he felt the swell of emotions rise in him. Sadness for his parents, whose names he couldn't remember. Happiness for the second chance at life and for the changes in his life. Love for his family of otters and for all his friends. And finally, curiosity for the wolf, who had only been in his life for a mere five minutes, yet made one of the biggest changes in his life.

* * *

_**Dream Segment**_

_Keetch felt as if he was floating in the atmosphere, the sky suddenly becoming luminous. And then the next thing he knew, he was thrust into the dark, the air smelling foul and stale. Confused, he snapped his vision this way and that, trying to discern at least a shape in the impenetrable shadows. And then he let his ears swivel in all odds of angles, trying to catch a sound other than the dripping chimes of water. Guardedly, he put his arms forward trying to feel around for something- anything at all._

_Carefully, he moved his paws throughout the air, taking small steps forward, hoping that he would come into contact with a wall eventually. And then in his fifth step, he felt a hard, cold, slimy texture against the tip of his finger. He recoiled instantly, only to came forward later to inspect it. Moving both paws against the surface, he paid careful attention to the ridges in the hopes that it was maybe the edge of a door. However, he was disappointed to know that he had only come to a blank wall._

_"Redwall...?" he thought to himself, "No... these walls are rough and cracked... caked in slime... it can't be..." _

_And then the realization hit him like a blow to the back of his head._

_Greymorg._

_"No..." he whispered as his paws scrabbled against the filthy walls with panick and dread, "It can't be here... How? How did I get back_ here_? I want to get out... Out!" He took deep, quick breaths, feeling the panic building up inside him, backing up just behind his throat._

_"Not here! Please! Anywhere but this place..." he choked, hearing his desparate voice echo in the prison. He pounded against the stone wall, feeling the throbbing pains on his fists, but he pushed that out of his mind. What he needed now was to escape from this horrid place of his past. He didn't want to be here... Why? Why was he here again after all those seasons? After all that running? It was a place of death and it always will be. _

_"Bones," he recited the vile omen he heard long ago, "Bones. Nothing but bones... And blood will be spilt to run the rivers dry... And stones will crack and the world will crumble to nothingness!"_

_Then suddenly, there was a brilliant splash of light washing in the room. Keetch ducked his head, squinting his eyes as a paw sheilded them. From what he could tell, the source of light was a shining window- a doorway, its edges made more prominent by the stark, contrasting darkness. And then there was a tall figure there. But he couldn't identify the strange beast at the exit. He blinked._

_Once. Twice._

_And then he gaped at the creature he easily recognized- himself._

* * *

Keetch immediately jolted awake, bolting into an upright position as he panted. Drenched in sweat, he jerked his head in all angles, wildly scanning the area for any sign of danger. He breathed a sigh of relief as his mind came to recognize the shapes of shrubs and wildflowers, and thick, towering trees. Sluggishly, he allowed himself to fall back to propping himself up by the elbows, surveying the peaceful scene about him. And then he noticed the soft sunlight trickling down onto the woodland floor.

_"Daybreak already...?" _he thought to himself, _"Ooh, but what was... that dream about...?"_ He rested a paw on his head as he tried to recollect the grim memory. In the back of his mind, he knew that it wasn't a pleasant dream, but he couldn't quite place what it was about.

And then his train of thought was interrupted by a heavy weight on his lap and some uncomfortable wet sensation on his legs.

"... Wha-?" he gasped as he looked down.

There, her head on his lap, the perfectly content Clove had fallen asleep on him. He groaned in disgust as he noticed the river of drool flowing from the corner of her mouth.

"Errrrrr," he growled as he shoved her head away, "GET OFF!"

"Huh?!" she jumped up from her sleep, startled back to consciousness. The first thing she saw was her master's face, the very picture of frustration and disgust. As she rubbed her eyes, she then realized her mistake.

"Master!" she gasped hurriedly, "Slave's sorry! Clove fell asleep!"

"Just get away from me, you stupid slave!" he barked as he pulled himself up to a standing position. This time, Clove was more than willing to obey his command, scuttling away from him to keep her distance.

"Let's go," he snapped as he grabbed his few possessions and stalked out of their camp site, "At the moment I have half the mind to leave you behind."

"Clove's coming master," she called shilly as she ran to catch up to him, "Wait for Clove!"

* * *

Elsewhere, another beast had fallen asleep on duty. Sitting atop his stool, his cheek resting against a parchment on the pedastal, Tarka was snoring gently, his thumb in his mouth. It seemed that his habit of pouring over books had finally gotten him to sleep. However, he was supposed to return to his room instead of planting his face in one of the books for the rest of the night. And little did he know that this tiny mistake was going to cost him.

Creeping up on him, a slender figure silently meandered through the small piles of parchment, a mischievious glimmer in her eyes. And then when she was just next to the pedastal, she lifted a small bottle of ink off the table with deft paws. With that done, her fingers grappled against its cap, trying to pry it from the rim of the bottle.

_Pop!_

The squirrelmaid grinned to herself as she dipped her fingers in the thick, dark liquid, allowing it to run and dribble through her paws and back into its container. Then, biting her lip to stifle her giggles, she smeared the messy stuff all over the sleeping otter's palm, careful not to wake him.

"Still a light sleeper, eh Tarka?" the squirrel whispered under her breath. And once his palm was completely blackened and the bottle was back to its proper place, she was satisfied with her work and was ready to carry on. She inhaled deeply, filling her lungs with as much air as she could... and then she unleashed it.

"TAAAAAARKAAAAA!"

"Whoa!" he jumped, slipping off his stool and landing to the hard ground with a _thud_.

"Ow.... OooOoow!" he moaned as he sat up, only to see the laughing culprit standing over him.

"Hahahahahahahahaha!" she giggled, hugging her sides, "You- haha- should'a seen the look on your... haha... ha... face!"

"Sarrow!" he groaned as he got back on his footpaws.

"Looks like you're happy to see me too, Tark!" she smiled sweetly.

"Don't you know it rude to wake anybeast up like this?" he yawned, rubbing his face with his paws, oblivious to the black tracks he was leaving all over his face. And to her credit, Sarrow was able to keep a straight face- that is, until the otter had a very prominent "black eye".

"HahahahahahahaahahaaaHAAAAA!" she roared.

"What?" Tarka asked, his expression irritated. However, Sarrow didn't quite catch that look, since it was covered in ink. And to add to that, she never really did take him seriously in the first place.

"You know what?" she asked sprightly, fighting down the bubbling bouts of laughter, "I think you grew!"

"Uh... ah, thank you," the otter said, a bit unsure of the compliment.

"Yup! Taller than me now," she replied, standing on the tips of her toes, "But I can still do _this_!" At that, she ruffled the fur on the top of his head playfully.

"Stop that!" he said as he pushed her paw away, smoothing out his fur with care. As he did so, it seemed as if the ink had not dried and was still capable of leaving darkened splotches over everything it touched. And before long, Sarrow was exploding with laughter at the scene before her.

The poor confused otter stood fixed to the spot, wondering what the squirrel found so humorous. Of course, he knew that she found almost everything funny, but still... it was disturbing him that he didn't know what she was laughing at. So he stood there, his fur drying in spiky, black tufts and black nonsense-Juska marks smeared all over his face.

"Well when did you get here?" he asked, trying to get her to be serious.

"Huh... Haha..." she managed to squeeze out some more weak peals of laughter before she answered him, "Oh, just moments ago, actually."

"Well in that case, let's go get Melo then," he smiled, "Let's see what pranks we could come up for him!"

"You mean the prank that I played on you?" she offered.

"Nah... it seemed just a little weaker than usual," he shrugged, "No offense."

"None taken," she smiled yet again, a knowing look glowing in her eyes.

"Now what kind of trick are you two planning on now?" a new voice asked. Both of them whirled around to face the newcomer.

And there was Melo, leaning against the doorway with an expectant smirk on his face.

"Melo!" Sarrow exclaimed, rushing up to hug him. His balance seemed to teeter a bit at the sudden force of the embrace, but he kept on his footpaws successfully.

"Off!" he said good-naturedly as he shoved her aside. And then he turned to Tarka and his entire face seemed to fall apart in shock.

"Tarka... what... your face..." and then he was roaring with laughter, pointing at Sarrow's victim with a claw. Then the squirrelmaid couldn't help herself, and she too was a part of the uproar.

"What...?" Tarka whispered, completely confused. He raised his paw to scratch his head at this and then he saw it- black ink smudges smeared all over his palm. And _then_ he understood everything clearly.

"Oh, mess with me, will ya...?" he growled, charging at her.

"Catch us if you can, Tark!" she called impishly as she raced out of the room at full speed, Melo and Tarka following close behind.

They ran about like over-grown dibbuns, tumbling down stairs, leaping over furniture, and speeding past innocent pedestrians as they reprimanded them.

"You young rips!"

"Slow down you three!"

"For the love of..."

"Gaaaaaah!" one of the screamed shrilly as they zoomed by, "Watch it!"

It was a rare moment for Tarka, being yelled at by his elders. But of course, he wasn't an adult yet... it was just a bit of fun, after all. And alongside him were his friends, shreiking mock war-cries and hooting like wild things as they rebounded off the walls in their aimless race. Between them, it was more than just a game, it was reliving their fondest memories.

The Troublesome Trio were back at Redwall.

* * *

**Summary in a Nutshell (not in chronological order, because I prefer to do it this way this time)**

_**Clove is enjoying the outdoor life and it seems pretty apparent that she's getting attached to Keetch. And even our favorite snow fox seems to be a little nicer. However, he doesn't seem to show it much. Keetch falls asleep and has a dream that he's stuck in some dark, suffocating prison. And then he realizes he's in Greymorg and completely panics, claiming that he's left the place for good. And then he get a brief glimpse of himself in the dream and jolts back to consciousness. And when he wakes up, he finds Clove lying on his lap.**_

**_As for Tarka, he was flipping through the Abbey Records randomly and he came across the entry that describes the Abbey's verge to recovery from the Plague. Tarka then goes on to contemplate about how his Bartholomew's death affected Melo's behavior. After all, he was his father. And then he reads an entry of his own past, reveling in the mixed emotions he has over the matter._**

**_The next day, Sarrow arrives at Redwall and plays a prank on Tarka while he's asleep. She puts ink all over his paw and wakes him up rudely. He then rubs the ink all over his face and even on the top of his head when Sarrow ruffles his fur. Melo sees this and everyone's in a laughing fit. Tarka eventually finds out and chases them around, making the trio wreak havoc in Redwall._**

**Not as long as usual because it is fillery. But hey, every story has at least _some_ filler. And as for the weird chapter name, (shrugs) totally random. **

**Character Ages: Melo- 18 or 19; Mirril- 24; Tarka- 15; Sarrow- 18; Wayrin- mid-40's; Linette and Meles- mid-50's? (all I know is, they're old)**

**So was this chapter even a little bit humorous? I was aiming for a bit of humor here. If it wasn't funny to you guys, then I guess I overdid it or something. And I really liked the cuteness growing between Keetch and Clove. She'll occasionally switch between calling him Keetch and Master. And was Keetch's background as an ex-citizen of Greymorg surprising for at least some of you? I know for a fact that a lot of you already saw it coming. What do you think about that? **

**So please REVIEW and tell me what you think about this chapter. Any comments, speculations, ideas, suggestions, corrections, etc. are welcome. Say whatever you want, just as long as you're honest with me. Remember, I can take any constructive criticism you throw at me. Do your worst! **

**I even do spoiler-free/spoilerish character bios willingly (but only DPBCLover asks for them). ;( And I can even give you a full-scale summary of every chapter just for readers who are a bit confused. So any questions or comments, please comment me. **

**Remember: Your Reviews= My Happiness :D**


	33. Into the Belly of the Beast

**First of all, sorry for the delay. My parents have been pretty strict with my computer time over the week, so blame them and not me. Second of all, thanks to all of you who read and/or reviewed over the past week: Adderstar of Valorclan, FoxStar24, Fwirl of Redwall, Awsomewriter123, Foeseeker, Martin the Warrior (anonymous), Kylyn, Zinachu, Mangahottie740, DPBCLover, Cinnamonpool, Jarrtail, SnuffSnuff, Reynoi, and Sanfrasm (whew, long list).**

**And another special thanks to Adderstar of Valorclan for allowing me to use her alter-ego in a little skit that came to my head. Let me explain first, in her review, she wrote "(Swats Keetch) Stop being mean to her!" So I told her that Kenzie (her crazy alter-ego) should convince Keetch to have a heart, and this little scenario popped into my mind...**

**Keetch: (talking calmly and backing away slowly) But I gave her a fish! Besides, I'm actually really nice to her as it is! I mean, I don't _beat_ her or anything!  
****Kenzie: (advancing forward and wielding a baseball bat) Well I'm bein' nice right now 'cause I'm not _beating your brains out_! How 'bout _that_?!  
****Keetch: (voice becoming high-pitched and panicked) Wait, wait, wait! We can talk this over! Just calm down... calm-  
****Kenzie: You can't tell me what to do! (swings bat)  
****_WHAP!!!  
_****Keetch: (flies to the wall)**

**Well there's my terrible sense of humor right there. I hope I got Kenzie's character right. As I said before, the summary is in the bottom of the chapter, just in case you get confused (yes, yet another long confusing chapter). This chapter is my longest one yet, and I thought it wouldn't get much longer than the last one. Oh boy, let's hope I don't get to 10,000 words per chapter.**

**Q and A (I reply all reviews through the Fanfiction Messaging system; if your comment isn't replied here, I'm not saying I don't care about it. I just don't have anything to say about it or any questions to answer)**

**To Everyone: Well, I'm glad you liked Keetch's past. I'm kind of hoping that it was a surprise to people. Anyways, just wait until you find out what happened all those seasons ago and why he left. ;)**

**Foeseeker: I bet you really want to be the one smacking Keetch instead of Kenzie. XD (look above if you didn't understand that little joke)**

**Cinnamonpool: Thanks for your comment. It really helped make this chapter more interesting. See, I haven't actually forgotten about Brink. I just didn't know what to do with him because nothing really important is happening at Redwall. However, because of you, I finally got an idea that could change the story around. So, thanks a bunch for your super-helpful review. :D**

**Jarrtail: Good question about Brother Bartholomew. Bartholomew (Melo's dad) is supposed to be strictly my character. I looked up a bunch of Redwall names in Redwall Wiki, but there was never any Brother Bartholomew (though I expected there to be one too). Hm, I guess BJ just doesn't want that name. However, I found a couple "Bart"s and "Barty"s. And now I'm thinking: "Bart Simpson"! XD**

**Sanfrasm: Thanks for your review. I'm so happy that I have a new reviewer! ^^**

**Wow that was quick. I guess I can just move on now. Sorry about the long Author Commentary.**

* * *

**_Prologue_**

**_With the army of Greymorg on the move, Keetch's task is even more crucial to the fate of Redwall. Can he do his part in this war? Can he make a difference?_**

_**'Til you meet with the mark of gouged rock  
Entrance to the forbidden warren.**_

_**Deep, black, tunnels of decay,  
Delve into the one at shadow's peak  
For to aid in victory someday,  
Nature's most deadly weapon you must seek.**_

* * *

**Into the Belly of the Beast**

* * *

"Clove! Get over here!" Keetch yelled at the woods ahead of him, hoping she hadn't wandered too far already. He heaved a self-pitying sigh to himself as he counted the seconds. Just recently she had gotten into the habit of wandering ahead of him and coming back to relay whatever it was that amazed her- usually something about flowers. At first he reprimanded her actions, and usually she would follow his laws strictly; but of course, she would later forget his words and go bounding off.

At first, Keetch was irritated by her disobedient streak, but after a while, he had enjoyed the stretch of silence that filled her brief absence. And it was then that he decided that she could wander around a bit, just as long as she didn't stray too far from him. Mentally, he envisioned the worst that could result from her escapades: attracting vermin and a variety of dangers.

"CLOVE!" he called again, cupping his paws next to his mouth this time. He continued his way up the steep slope, cursing his bad leg and his slave. Bitterly, he recalled how she was stung by a bee just yesterday. Oh, how she _howled_! He even remembered how she kept whimpering and whining as he spread salve on the swollen lump on her paw; and right now, it would suit him just fine if she would get stung again.

_"Serves her right,"_ he thought darkly, _"I had given her _far_ too much freedom as it was. I should've known not to let her bounding off like this!"_

"Keetch! Keetch!" he heard her shrill voice calling to him, getting louder each time, "Keetch! Keetch! Look'it what I found!" Instantly the little rabbit was at the top of the slope, bouncing up and down excitedly, pointing at the path from where she came from.

"What is it? What's it called?" she pressed.

"I haven't even seen it yet, so how do I know?!" he snapped. The harsh tone had an instant effect on the slave, and she had instantly resumed her usual submissive pose, her body still and her head bent downwards in an apology.

"Sorry Master..."

"Sorry indeed!" he muttered, holding the case of medicine up to her, "Take this!"

"Yes Mas- Keetch," she mumbled through a strained voice as she accepted his burden. With that taken care of, the snow fox leaned against his staff, touching his aching knee tenderly.

_"Ugh... Hadn't healed since that incident two seasons ago..."_

He then exhaled heavily as he wiped the sweat off his brow, ready to continue on his long trek. He looked up to find his slave watching him eagerly as he struggled up against the steep angle. Upon reaching the top, he dug his staff into the earth ahead of him, pulling himself forward laboriously as he panted at the effort. And then Clove was by his side again, chattering away about something she "founded."

"It's big and made of wood!" she exclaimed, her enthusiasm a stark contrast to his bored expression, "_See?!_" She pointed at the figure ahead. At first, he couldn't make heads or tails of this mysterious object that was half-covered by overgrown tree branches, but upon closer inspection, it became obvious to him.

"It's a sign post," he murmered as he brushed the weathered surface and the faded letterings.

"Sign post?" the rabbit repeated, "What's a _sign post_?"

"A post that gives signs," was his vague answer, "Simple enough."

"... Oh..." she nodded, feigning complete understanding, "Then what does it say?"

"Can't read it," he replied gruffly, "It's almost completely blank. And from the looks of this rotting wood, it's been standing out here for seasons. The words must've all washed off in the rains..."

"But Keetch can read all the signs! He can even read omens from the bones," she insisted.

"It's a different kind of reading," he answered as he knocked on the splintery wood, "One that I can't do."

Clove's eyes went wide all of a sudden as she looked at him with confusion. This whole time, it was her master who seemed to know everything. And now she was just finding out that there was something he _couldn't_ do. And even more shocking, he was a seer who couldn't read a specific sign. What was it then, the "different kind of reading"? She had seen him comprehend something as complex as firelight once, so how was it possible that he couldn't even read something that stood still in the earth like this? After all, it didn't flicker about in some rhythmic dance like flames, and it surely didn't have the numerous symbols etched in it like the sacred bones.

"And... what kind of reading is that?" she piped up.

"It's completely different from the reading I was taught," he replied wistfully as he brushed past the lonely sign. Silently, he wondered how long it had been since somebeast had come this way. He could already tell from the thinning path that it could've been seasons since. And just by that, he felt a sense of foreboding in his throat, though he knew that he had to continue and constantly keep his guard up. Despite his suspicion, he took comfort in the fact that for now, the birds were still singing their chorus- a sign of peace.

"Clove," he addressed her in a low voice, "Be quiet here, you understand? And stay close and don't wander off." She nodded numbly at his instructions, feeling frightened all of a sudden by the gravity of the situation.

Quietly, the two continued their trek through the forest, hoping that they would come across whatever it is that they were searching for.

_"What was it that Martin said again... tunnels...? What tunnels? And which one should I go in to... or maybe he was warning me to stay away from them?"_ he racked his memory for answers, trying to grab ahold of something from that vague dream, _"Tunnels of decay... and something about shadow's peak? Curses! What's that supposed to mean?!"_

* * *

Brink eyed his target carefully, holding the tip of his knife with two fingers. Taking a deep breath, he raised his paw just behind his ear...

_THWAP!_

Fast as lightning, the sea otter stepped forward, putting his entire body weight into the throw. To the naked eye, the blade looked like a silver blur slicing through the air, only to be halted by the tree with a resounding _thunk!_

Brink smiled at his accomplishment as he walked up to the far target he'd set for himself- a circle carved into the rough bark of a tree. It wasn't very big, which set the challenge for him, but he didn't mind failure quite as much. Recently, he'd been defeating his failure, learning to hone his aim better each and every day- and today was no exception.

The knife was just shy off its mark, up to its hilt just below the crude circle. He sighed as he put his foot to the trunk, grasped the handle, and got to work at tugging it free. It took several jerks, but the blade finally came out, though it was covered in sticky tree sap. Brink hummed to himself thoughtfully, flipping it in the air and catching it with deft paws. And then he looked back at his tree, the circle completely unscathed while a thick cluster of puncture wounds dotted its circumference.

_"Perhaps it was time I tried the other knives..."_

"Not a bad shot, if I do say so myself!" a voice boomed. Brink didn't need to spin around to see the creature. After all, he had heard that voice nearly every day.

"Thanks Skipper," he smiled.

"Heh," the otter chieftain smirked, inspecting Brink's handiwork, "I see you're having fun tearing up this poor ol' tree. Keep it up lad, and all the trees of Mossflower would have your famous mark on 'em. Hah!" Raller looked to the younger otter, as if expecting a laugh in return, but what he got was a blank stare.

"'Cause you always... heh... leave holes... in the... trees?... Get it?" he explained, his voice becoming smaller as his nervousness grew.

"Oh," the sea otter replied simply, not knowing how to respond his brave effort.

"Ah, never mind," Raller winked as he put an arm over Brink's shoulders, "T'was a terrible joke anyways. Now, you know who tells a good joke? Rosco! He always somehow gets the punchline _just_ right," he cocked his head thoughtfully, "Hmmm... But then again, his jokes are always jibes against his sister... ah well..."

"Jolin always pays him back with a punch to the head anyways," Brink pointed out.

"Ha! You bet!" Skipper laughed, and then his voice became quieter- more serious.

"Listen mate, you have to stop keeping all to your lonesome now. At first we thought you were just a tad shy, and that you'd come out of your shell in a bit. But it's getting worse, and-"

"And you've already talked to me about this," the young otter interrupted, lowering his eyes, "You've talked to me _a lot_ about this."

"Right, but listen Brink, it's been nearly two seasons and you gotta open up to the other beasts. The way you spend your days practicing your weaponry- it isn't _healthy_. It makes you look violent, and if the other beasts won't talk to you, this behavior would only get worse," he answered, his voice slowly melting to something gentle and fatherly, "But listen to me, there's more to life than fighting and swords. There are beasts that are worth befriending, and you have to get close to them. After all, what's the point to all these fancy knife tricks if there's nobeast to love and protect? ... D'ye get my point?"

"I see what ye mean, Skip," Brink answered hesitantly, "But listen... I'm not... staying for long anyways." Instantly, he felt a pang of regret the moment those words left his mouth, for the otter chieftain had a shocked and crestfallen look to his face.

"Wha-?"

"Don't get me wrong, Skip," he defended his decision hurriedly, "I really liked it here. I mean, I've learned so much from you and meeting you all... and you've been so kind to me when I was near death. But..." He hung his head at this. Was it shame he was feeling? Shame because he knew that what he was saying was hurting a friend? He was disappointing him now, wasn't he?

"... But you miss your family," Skipper nodded in understanding, "I understand, Brink. They're probably worried sick about you... and you're the travelin' type, I know that. But Brink, somebeast will miss you, ya know?"

"Who?" he raised an eyebrow, "Jolin?"

"She's got eyes for nobeast but you," he chuckled, "Oh, you should see the look on her face when you walk into the room. She tries to be discreet, but _oh no_! Nothin' gets past 'er Uncle Raller!" In response to that, Brink groaned and blushed, only making Skipper laugh and punch him hard on the back.

"But Brink," he said as he put a paw on his shoulder, "I respect your decision. You're a grown beast and you have the right to choose yer future. Nobeast- not even me, can tell you what to do. However, I want to ask you for a couple favors before you leave."

"Yes Skip?"

"First of all," the otter began in a serious tone, "Think about what you're doing first. Are you sure you _really _want to leave us? All the beasts you know right here? All the memories? Mull it over for a few days... see if you change your mind. And _if_ you decide to leave us, be sure to visit us sometime. And secondly... stay around for the Spring Feast, lad!" he grinned jokingly, "I want you to leave on your journey with a full stomach and a heavy load of rations! At least... at least give us all a chance to say our good-byes before bolting off."

"Aye..." Brink nodded, feeling his heart grow heavy, "I'll think about it. You've got yourself deal, Skipper."

"Good," Raller gave a sad smile, turning around to get ready to leave, "Are... are ye sure you're going to think about it?"

"I'll think about it," Brink answered, twisting a knife in his paw, "But I doubt I'm goin' to change my mind."

"Well, are you _sure_ there's absolutely _nothing_ I could do to change your mind?"

Brink simply shrugged in response. At the moment, he just didn't have the heart to keep disappointing Skip like this.

"Heh," the burly otter chuckled quietly as he walked out of view, "You always were a stubborn one!"

Brink nodded as the otter chieftain left. The idea had been turning itself in his mind recently. He had to admit, leaving seemed like a solution to all his problems at first, but now... now that he had to break the news, he found it very difficult.

_"Do I have to go now? Maybe I can wait a season or two? Or maybe I can just visit Mom'n'Dad for a little while, and come back later... but then again, for runnin' away, I'd be grounded until I grow a beard!"_

He picked up another knife, testing the balance in his paws as he took several steps back. He narrowed his eyes in concentration, trying to get the invading thoughts out of his head. He didn't know why, but all this training did help clear his mind- but not today.

_THWAP!_

The blade left his fingers, whistling a deadly tune in the air before it embedded itself in the tree. Silent, his legs still bent in the follow-through position, Brink looked to his mark and stared at it with dismay. It seemed that his aim was even further off than usual- _much_ further off. The weapon stood there- a glaring mistake that stood apart from the rest of the stab marks. Finally, his heart sinking like stone, we walked up to his target to retrieve his blade.

_"Mom, Dad, little Cora, Keetch, Ma Krammel, Skipper, Jolin, Rosco... Seems like the more creatures I meet, the lonelier I get..."_

* * *

The very sight of it astounded Keetch. He didn't quite expect this when he thought of those "deep, dark holes" Martin foretold. He pictured numerous, dank caves just off some riverbank. But no, this was something else altogether.

It was as if some giant, bigger-than-life creature had stooped over the land and dug his paws deep into the earth, scooping up piles and piles of dirt in his paws. And now, they were staring down on some reddened blemish in the green landscape. And to further its majestic appearance, the sandy rocks glowed in a soft, rosy hue as they basked in the warmth of the summer sun.

"What is it?" Clove asked in awe as she stepped up next to him.

"It's all rock!" she exclaimed as she shuffled her footpaws against the stone ground, "It's all red rock!"

The snow fox ignored her as he strode forward, brushing his paw against a few stone slabs here and there.

_"It's a bit paler and more weathered... but it's the same type of red sandstone. This is the place that the Redwallers got their bricks. They dug it from this quarry... a quarry means... gouged rock, right? Wasn't that what Martin said? 'Meet the mark of gouged rock'? __But then what is this 'forbidden warren'? Or the tunnels or the shadow's peak? And _what_ am I looking for out here?"_

At that thought, he looked about him, noting the desolate, abandoned look. It must have been filled with life once before, when the goodbeasts gathered together to fulfill their dreams of a safe haven. But now that they've achieved that purpose, the land just became dead and empty.

He felt a gentle breeze brush against his fur as he stood among the rocks, trying to imagine the long-gone history of the olden days. How long had these rocks been exposed to the searing heat and frozen colds? How long had they been to their lonesome, tasting the bitter tears of rain? And what secrets could this place have hidden... secrets long since forgotten? He continued walking forward, observing the quarry with reverent interest.

"Keetch," Clove's voice squeaked, "What's this place?"

"A quarry," he replied, quickly answering her next question before she had a chance to ask, "It's a place where beasts dig up stones to make houses."

"But why're we here?" she asked as she arrived at his side, "Are we near the goodbeast place?"

"Not just yet," he answered curtly. Suddenly, a large shadowy object came to view. Immediately, Keetch quickened his pace, knowing now that he had reached his destination. But where was the next clue going to take him? What exactly was this _"forbidden warren"_? Where was it?

And then there was that question came back again, gnawing at the back of his mind: What is this deadly weapon that Martin asked me to find?

Sure enough, it was a cave. And then there was another one. And another one. And _another _one. Keetch stopped in his tracks, staring at the gaping holes that lined the walls of rock. He easily counted twenty around him, and he then felt his spirits shrivel at the sheer possibilities. After all, how many winding paths are here in the first place? How many deaths do they lead to?

_"'Delve into the one at shadow's peak...'"_ he recited the words in his head, _"And just which tunnel would that be? And just what is this 'shadow's peak'? Peaks? Like a mountain, I suppose... a shadowy, dark mountain? But Salamandastron's the only mountain in all of Mossflower. That doesn't make any sense. And there aren't even any rock formations here that even _look_ like a mountain..."_

"Keetch..." his slave addressed in a quiet voice, "What is Keetch lookin' for? What's Keetch doing here?"

"Don't know," he replied in a frustrated tone, leaning against a slab of faded pink sandstone, "But we're going into one of the caves."

"One of the... _caves_?" she gulped, her miserable memories surfacing, "For how long Keetch?"

"Don't know," he said, a note of finality in his voice. Clove just nodded, a pained look on her face as she gazed around at the dark cave entrances- their mouths stretching wide, eager to swallow her whole.

She shuddered, dreading the thought of living in a cave again, and despite the summer heat, she hugged herself as she shivered. She just couldn't bear the thought of being leashed up to the dark recesses of a cave- never see the sun again.

And Keetch would be just like Old Grack, beating her and yelling at her until he would grow old and crazy. Or _worse_, he could tether her to the caves and leave her there to rot. Of all places, why would she have to be shoved back to another cave? Could her master really be so cruel, letting her see the outside world and lead her on to believing she was free, only to fling her back to another prison?

_"But why?"_ she thought in despair, _"But it isn't fair! How could he? Why would Keetch do that? _Why_?!"_

Instantly, she felt some hot tears springing up from the corners of her eyes, and her vision was suddenly becoming so very bleary. She rubbed her eyes and tried to stop the onslaught of tears, only to make a stifled sniffling sound. It was a small, strangled noise, but it was enough for the seer to hear. With a swirl of his cloak, he turned around, only to see the little rabbit covering her face with her paws as she trembled.

"What are you doing?"

That was it. She felt so ashamed for weeping right now, feeling her master's eyes on her. Sniffling and wiping her tears with a forearm, she sat down on the ground, her knees drawn up to her chest.

"What are you _crying_ about?" his voice sounded more dumbfounded than authorative this time.

Clove simply shook her head as she lowered her ears and pressed her eyes against her knees, refusing to look him in the eyes. She couldn't face him _now_- she didn't dare to. Obviously, her behavior had upset her master.

"Tell me." She hesitated at the command. Part of her was terrified to tell her Master, yet the other part of her naturally wanted to obey. She let loose a few strangled sobs as she lifted her head, hiccupping from all the stress.

"Master," she said in a quiet voice, her words punctuated by hiccups and half-sobs, "No more caves, Master, _please_. Clove doesn't want to stay in a cave. Clove doesn't want to be in the dark anymore!" At that, she bowed her head and hugged her knees closer to her body.

For a second, the seer was speechless as he stood awkwardly to the side, his slave a frightened babe.

"... We're not _staying_ in a cave," he said dryly, "Just looking for something."

"Wha'?" she looked up at him, her eyes red and puffy.

"We're not staying, so get up," he said gruffly as he turned away. And at that very moment, Clove loved him with all her heart for what he just said.

"Really?" she asked brightly as she got to her footpaws and ran up to him. He nodded in response, not willing to talk any more- or have eye contact, for that matter.

Silently, he decided to sit down among the rocks, at the very center of the quarry, looking around in hopes of finding a sign that would lead him to _something._ And same as her master, Clove sat down next to him, following his gaze to see what he was looking at.

"Keetch," she piped up, "Which cave are we going to?"

"That's what I'm deciding." Intrigued, she tipped her head quizzically, giving her a half-thoughtful, half-clueless look.

"But Keetch, why are we going in?"

"To look for something," he said sharply, "So be quiet while I think. No more questions!" She lowered her ears at his harsh voice, but remained calm. Patiently, she did as she was bid, staring out at her surroundings and drinking in the strange sight. She didn't mind waiting, though.

_"Keetch is always right,"_ she told herself reassuringly.

* * *

And somewhere to the west coast, the sun was beginning its decent back to the horizon. The skies turned a dark red hue, giving the underbellies of passing clouds the color of blush. The sea glimmered against the spectacle, the soft waves whispering its secrets as they reached their touch over the sandy shores, leaving delicate seashells behind as gifts. The same mesmerizing pattern seemed to repeat itself over the landscape, the beach stretching out like a single ribbon along the coast.

And then a dark, monsterous mountain jutted out of the ground, creating an air of majesty about the place. Standing proud and tall against time, Mount Salamandastron was quieter than usual.

It was now relatively empty, a majority of its inhabitants across the seas, traveling wherever the winds took them. And now with the badger lord and most of the army gone, the hares had found their military lives in somewhat of a standstill. After all, many of the drilling, training, and organizing of troops just didn't seem to run as smoothly with such a lack of numbers.

However, the one good thing about the mountain at that moment was the fact that there was far more food, or "tuck" as the hares fondly called it. Yes, for once, the storehouses weren't completely empty, and the hares were making the most of the surplus.

All seemed well in Salamandastron, and Mossflower appeared to be in good paws. However, despite the gulls that wheeled about in the sky, there was one other thing that caused a disturbance in the calming atmosphere.

It appeared as a tiny little speck that grew. And as it comes closer to view, the vague shape sprouts ears and long legs. And closer still, and it had somehow morphed itself into a hare.

Now, there were many hares that resided in Salamandastron, and they came in such abounding numbers, they all practically looked the same. But somehow, whether it was some strange hare-instinct or something, they were able to tell each other apart; if there was a hare with you right now, just any random hare, he'd probably tell you straight away, "That's Lieutenant Missy Tulane, one of the best scouts of Salamandastron".

But somehow, as eccentric as hares go, this one seemed a bit strange. She wasn't running in a paced speed, but rather at a break-neck race against the wind. Her paws pounded and kicked back at the loose sand, creating miniature flares of clouds behind her. And one could see from the way she leaned forward, putting all her weight behind her, that she was running as fast as she possibly could, some invisible force driving her forward.

And closer now, she looked to be completely exhausted, sweat dripping down from her face as she kept up her pace. But of course, she had every reason to push her limits this far. After all, the news she had now would change the entire country of Mossflower as she knew it.

As if the stony fortress had recognized its citizen, its gates creaked wide open to welcome her. Glad as she was to finally arrive at her destination, she didn't dare slow down- not when she had a duty to uphold.

"Lieutenant Misserania-" a gatekeeper asked in a concerned voice, only to be ignored coldly as she sped through the gates.

Her breath felt hot and ragged in her lungs, but she couldn't stop now. No, not now. Not when so many creatures have died already.

_"I must go on,"_ the thought drilled in her head, _"I can't stop now. Every second lost could be another drop of innocent blood- innocent blood that I could save..."_

She heard the voices of the hares she was passing by, some of them gawking at her, some berating her, some of them even trying to get her to sit down. But she ignored them all, treating them like momentary blurs that would disappear in a blink of an eye. She could explain to them later, but what she really needed to do was report to the colonel.

Upon reaching the winding stairs upwards, she staggered slightly, a hacked cough rising up in her dry throat. She wanted so desparately to stop and rest for the entire day, but she couldn't. As a member of the Long Patrol, she had a responsibility for the safety of Mossflower. She couldn't bring herself to shame her comrades and give in to her selfish needs when creatures could be dying now. One paw at a time, she stumbled up the stairs, her balance unsteady from fatigue.

"Huh?" she gasped as she felt a paw grab her arm. She turned her head to see who it was, only to have him pull her up the stairs.

"So what's the bloomin' meanin' of this, eh?" her cousin asked as he threw her arm over his shoulders.

"It's... it's..." she coughed loudly, feeling her insides burst to flame. Champlain, on the other paw, stayed politely quiet as he focused on getting her up the stairs.

"I... I have to... get to... colonel..." she croaked, her vision reeling and twisting about.

"What's the meaning of this?!" an authorative voice exclaimed.

"Major Thatcher, sir!" Champlain saluted his superior stiffly, "It's Missy! It's urgent news!"

"What news?" the hare was immediately at their side, his voice edged with a mixture of panic and dread. Missy only managed to pant and swallow a few times as she tried to force a word out of her mouth.

"Yes, yes?" the hares urged as patiently as they could. She took a long, deep breath as she prepared to tell of what she found, and in the corners of her vision, she saw an amassing crowd of hares gathering around.

"It's... It's a vermin horde," she choked, "... from the North," she took another gasp of air, "... Too much for us... Headin' for us... and the abbey..."

* * *

The sun set on the silent quarry, emboldening the liquid color of blood. And under an elongated, pointed overhang, a brown fox leaned against the stones as he contemplated his situation. Whatever journey he had set on seemed a fool's quest right now. He was just one beast- a vermin. How could he possibly make a dent in the fates that awaited Redwall? Perhaps it would've been wiser to warn the goodbeasts of their impending doom?

_"No. They wouldn't believe me anyways. And besides, the warrior mouse told me to go to this place for something important..."_ and then he clenched his jaws together as a bitter thought wormed its way into his mind, _"Why am I here anyways? Why should I care what happens to Redwall? After all that's happened, it's not any of my business if it's razed to the groun!"_

"Has Keetch found what he's looking for yet?"

He turned to the voice, the little rabbit staring up at him with a concerned look. He sniffed, turning away at her as he continued to brood over his problem. He had been wandering about the area for any more clues to his search, but besides rocks and sparse weeds, there was nothing to be found. To further his frustration, he'd been concentrating on his quandary, hoping for at least a sign or a vision or _something_. But of course, he didn't think it likely for Martin the Warrior to aid him.

_"I'm saving your abbey, mouse,"_ he thought darkly, _"So why don't you help me? I'm no enemy of yours... Or are you still distrustful towards me?"_

In the corner of his vision, he detected a quick movement. He turned his head, expecting an enemy or perhaps an answer to his questions. But no, it was just his slave bouncing around in a random manner. He looked at her, wondering what on earth she was doing.

She seemed to zig-zag in all sorts of directions, keeping her gaze down as she skipped around, seeming to dance. It took him a while to understand her comical little game, but in the end he realized that she was playing with her shadow, racing against it and making it throw wild poses. It was stretched out against the rocky ground, a lively, thin, mutilated shape that would never keep still.

To him, the shadows seemed only to be a cheap imitation to reality, all the shapes and movement of the world set askew. With a frustrated sigh, he looked to his own shadow- a fierce exaggeration to what his image was. It had long, pointed, rigid ears that jutted out of the head, seeming like mountains. His mind wandering hopelessly, he cradled his chin in his palm.

And that was when the thought struck him.

_"Shadow's peak..."_ his own thoughts sounded so much like a whisper to him, _"A shadow is really the shadow itself. The peak doesn't signify a mountain of sorts... it means its highest point- or in this case, the time the shadows are at their longest... which is the end of the sunset... which is _now_! And when Martin said 'Delve into the one at shadow's peak', he was telling me to go to the tunnel that the shadows pointed to... but where? _Where?_"_

Yet again filled with a sense of purpose, Keetch wrenched his head this way and that, seeking some shadow that was prominent against the red sandstone. It was closer and much more obvious than he had thought.

It was the enormous, shady overhang he sat under that cast the telling clue. The shadow seemed to stretch out along the ground and thin towards the end, its shape similar to that of an oblong arrowhead. And then, it ended right at the doorstep of a cave clear across from it.

At that moment, Keetch almost smiled in his triumph, but he dashed his good mood with another pessimistic thought. He still didn't know what he was looking for- or what was lurking _in_ that cave, for that matter. Getting back up to his footpaws, he lifted his medicine case with a soft grunt. Clove must've noticed his movements, for she was quickly at his side once more, looking at him questioningly as he spoke to her.

"We're going."

And with that, he was striding out of his shelter, his slight limp completely unnoticable. Apprehensive, Clove looked at him as he continued, but being the dutiful servant that she was, she followed him anyways.

Walking up to the cave, Keetch was quiet and focused, not wasting a thought on anything else than his mission. He was to find something, and now he was_ so_ close to it. _So close!_

He stopped at the cave entrance marked by the shadow and peered into it, seeing nothing but pitch-black, the walls ringing with chimes of tiny water droplets splashing into pools- clear sounds shrouded in darkness and damp air. Keetch tried to hide a shiver as he stared down at the emptiness before him.

"It's bigger than our other cave, Keetch," Clove observed, peering at it cautiously, as if she would be drawn in if she came too close.

With that, he placed his medicine case on the ground, bending down to undo the leather straps that held it closed.

"What's Keetch doing?"

Preferring to ignore her question, Keetch rummaged through his provisions. Just when all of the dried herb were strewn about the floor, Keetch had found what he was looking for: a lamp. Carefully, he filled it with oil, rationing it with calculating accuracy- not too much, and not too little. Then, with nimble strikes against flint, he started a flickering flame that grew and wavered with every little movement.

His fingers curling around the rusty handle, he held it out to the little rabbit, offering it to her. She stared at it, confused at first, but with a shaky paw, she accepted it quietly. Turning away from her, the snow fox gathered his staff and medicine case- his only possessions.

"Lead the way," he said as he stood up from his kneeling position.

"Huh?"

"Go on," he pointed his nose to the cave mouth, "Go." She looked at the cave hesitantly, frightened and trembling. Her fears were only natural, of course. After all, she did not have fond memories of dark places. She stumbled forward clumsily, feeling the swing of the lamp with each ungainly step.

"You'll spill the oil," Keetch hissed. Instantly, she slowed down and steadied her pawsteps, swallowing as she made her way to the awning mouth. Tentatively, she took a last longing look at the sky before she tip-toed inside.

She was surprised at first. She hadn't expected the weak light to battle the darkness so well. She stared in awe at the craggy cave floor and the moist rocks that seemed to function as fangs to this grotesque cave. Some had pointed down, dangling from the ceiling while others were fixated to the cave ground, their sharp points facing upwards. And some of them had even come to meet each other, merging together to form some sort of piller.

"Hold the light up higher," her master's voice echoed. She did as she was bid, hearing his uneven footsteps come into step with her own.

_"Poor Keetch,"_ she slowed down as she stole a sideways glance at him, _"Keetch's leg is always badly hurt. Keetch can't move and run as fast as Clove."_

"Keep walking," he ordered softly, as if somebeast were listening. With a grunt, he lifted his medicine case higher as he leaned heavily against his staff.

"Yes Keetch," she mumbled, quickening her pace.

Off to the sides of the rough path, little pools of clear water reflected the firelight, seeming to glow and radiate like multiple suns. And up ahead, she spotted the craggy cave wall that barred the rest of their path.

"Keetch...?"

He nodded, indicating that he noticed the problem as well.

"It must've caved in," the snow fox whispered to himself. Fervently, she hoped that he would turn around, but instead, he planted a firm paw on her shoulder, grimly urging her forward. She gulped audibly as she came forward, her hopes completely dashed.

"Keetch, Clove wants to go back," she whispered. But her pleading fell upon deaf ears, as Keetch had no intention of giving up his search. He stood there, glancing over the sharp wall of boulders.

"Damn it," he clenched his fists. Clove stepped back, unwilling to anger him further. Suddenly, she made a small squeaking sound as his paw shot out and snatched the lamp from her grasp. He held it up to his eye level as he turned this way and that, his eyes flicking in all directions- seeking an alternative. His sight roved around several more times before they finally fixed upon something- a seemingly insignificant shadow in the corner. Inhaling deeply, he let the light back to his slave's paws.

"We're going another way," he announced as he half-slid, half-stumbled further off the path. Stifling a meek moan, Clove followed him, nearly slipping in the process. Straying from the path, they walked along the wall of boulders and squeezed in between the strange, needle-like rocks only to find themselves standing in front of a smaller, cramped-looking tunnel. Keetch knelt down as he peered inside.

"Seems to lead down somewhere," he muttered as he turned to her, "You first."

"But Keetch," she whined.

"Get in," he ordered firmly, taking the lamp from her paws. With no choice left, his slave whimpered a polite protest as she went in feet-first, her paws grappling on the slippery rocks. With every step, she gave a pitious high-pitched sound, feeling the cold rocks against her fur. Constantly, she stared back up at her master, wishing he would call her back before she fell or something.

Keetch, in the meantime, had produced a rope from his case and was tying his provisions together, strapping them over his back tightly. He didn't know where this tunnel would take him or how long it was, so it was best that he brought everything with them, just in case. Then, he tied the lamp securely with the others, hoping that it wouldn't fall, burst in flames, or burn out during their descent.

"Can I come up now?" Clove squeaked.

"I'm coming down," he said, following after her in a similar fashion. He had to be slow and careful, since his legs were never strong in the first place. Although he wasn't dangling over a cliff, the rocks were slick and the tunnel angled down steeply. Even the smallest mis-step would be fatal.

"It's getting wider down here," Clove announced. At the moment, she couldn't be seen past the darkness, though from the sounds of her voice, Keetch knew that she couldn't be far below.

_"One leg down, one paw down, other leg down, other paw down..."_

_Shhhhhk! _

In one moment, he was clinging to the rocks, all four limbs grappling on to something. The next thing he knew, something collapsed under his back paw and he felt a downward pull on himself. As for the other rocks he was grasping, they betrayed him, loosening themselves from their rock beds. Instantly, Keetch felt the rocks pummel his stomach as he slid backwards and into the darkness, the rocky surrounding whooshing past him.

"Keeeeeeetch!" The voice mingled with his scream as the figure of the rabbit came into view. He shot his paw forward, scraping his nails against the ground as he tried to regain a secure hold. He felt a jarring holt as he felt two paws catch on to something. His heart pounding like a war drum, he clung to the rock surface like a flea.

"Keetch!" his slave called from above. Obviously, he had just barely missed her on that terrifying fall, sparing her from possible death. Looking at his surroundings, Keetch noticed that the tunnel did widen, though it still wasn't completely spacious. He pressed his face against the rocks as he shuddered, his mind working all the possibilities. He could have continued falling... he could've hit the ground with devastating force, or been impaled on a rock...

_"That's it! I've had enough of this hell hole! I'm getting out..."_

"Clove," he shouted, the fear clear in his voice, "W-we're going up now!" Jerkily, he pried his paw from its hold and raised it up, gripping more rocks right above. With a pained grunt, he hauled himself upwards.

_"I'll claw my way up if I have to!"_

And then he felt his heart sink as he felt another lurch to his motion. His arm still raised forward, he tugged upwards again, only to find himself stuck. Fear pricking his heart, he looked behind, glad that the miraculous lamp hadn't failed him yet.

It was then that he discovered that the rope that had been holding his provisions was now tangled against the rocks below. Moving his free paw against the bonds, he realized that he'd tied them too tight against his back. If he was to get any farther up, his only chance was to cut the rope with his dagger. And even if he would lose his provisions, at least he wouldn't lose his life. Slowly, he lowered his paw to his belt, fumbling around for the hilt.

"Keetch?" Clove called again, her voice near panic.

Cold sweat trickled down from his forehead as he unsheathed the weapon. His body hugging the rocks, he turned his head and shoulders as much as he dared, his dagger coming closer to the rope. Perhaps he could free himself from the tangled rope before his strength gave out?

_Shnap!_

_"No!"_

He felt his heart skip a beat as he felt himself fall to his side and slide down the slope.

_"No! Not again!"_

He screamed as the he felt himself zooming down the tunnel, down towards his doom. He flailed his limbs out in hopes of clinging back to the rocky surface, but over and over again, his attempts were fruitless. And to mock his terrible fate, the tunnel echoed his terrified screams, letting him _hear_ his own fear.

And then he couldn't feel the rocks underneath him anymore- only air.

With a sickening revelation, he realized that he wasn't sliding to his death any more- he was _falling_ to his death.

* * *

**Summary in a Nutshell**

**_First Segment: Keetch and Clove reach an old faded sign post. Keetch can't read it, but he figures that nobeast has been on this path in a very long time. The fact that Keetch can't read words shocks Clove, since she always thought he knew how to do everything. _**

**_Second Segment: Brink is quite skilled at knife-throwing, and it's evident that he spends a lot of time practicing weaponry. However, Skipper urgest him to open up to the other beasts, since Brink is pretty much a social misfit. But before the discussion could continue, Brink breaks the news that he's planning on traveling away, probably back home. At first, Skipper is crestfallen, but he supports Brink's decision and convinces him to stay for the Spring Festival at least. Brink's conflicting feelings about his decision are evident in this chapter, yet he shows that he's feeling very lost._**

**_Third Segment: Keetch and Clove are now at the quarry, which is part Martin's prophecy. However, Keetch still doesn't understand what he's supposed to do. After thinking it over, he decides he has to enter a cave, but he doesn't know which one, since there are so many of them. He tells Clove that they'll probably have to go inside one and she has an emotional breakdown because she thinks she'll have to stay there for the rest of her life. Then, Keetch tells her that they're only there to get something and that they're not going back. In this segment, it's evident that Clove thinks highly of Keetch and would hate to see him fall to be as cruel as Grack. It also shows how much she cares about him._**

**_Fourth Segment: In Salamandastron, a scout called Missy Tulane is rushing back to the mountain fortress with urgent news. She gets there completely exhausted and out of breath and reports that all of Mossflower is in danger. _**

**_Fifth Segment: Keetch figures out which cave he's supposed to go in (a shadow pointed at it). So they go inside and eventually reach a cramped, steep tunnel. They go inside, knowing that if they slip, they'll slide down the slippery rock floor and into the unknown darkness. As they go down, Keetch slips and falls far, but manages to stop himself. Scared, he gives up his search and tries to climb up, but is stuck because his rope is tangled and caught on some rock. As he tries to untangle himself, the rocks slip from under his paws and he tumbles into the darkness..._**

* * *

**Alright, so I have nothing more to say here except that the next chapter will deal with a bit of Keetch's history and it will include Brink. Sorry if I sound a bit rushed, but my mom's making me get off the computer soon.**

**Please remember to REVIEW, since I love hearing all your comments. Feel free to leave any contructive criticism, comments, questions, suggestions, ideas, etc. Just be completely honest and tell me what you think. And if you just don't feel like it, thanks for reading anyways.**

**Also, I still do character biographies (these sometimes have little spoilers!) and plot summaries. If anyone's interested, please ask.**

**Thanks for reading!**


	34. Darkness Swallows Whole

**Sorry for the late update. I also apologize for any sloppiness in this chapter. I really disliked writing this one, so I have to admit, I kinda rushed through it so a lot of it is just filler and it's sometimes very confusing. Plus, I couldn't stand seeing my story at the second page of the Redwall Fanfiction Archive. If you're confused, read the summary. For some reason, this chapter is VERY long.**

**Special thanks to all those who reviewed ever since the last chapter was published: Reynoi, MangaHottie740, DPBCLover, Adderstar of ValorClan, Sanfrasm, Foxstar24, Fwirl of Redwall, Awesomewriter123, Zinachu, SilverZeo, Foeseeker, Jarrtail, Sunshiine95, ExcellentEsme, SnuffSnuff, Martin the Warrior (anonymous), Red Squirrel Writer, and Kylyn.**

**Questions and Answers**

**Sanfrasm: Wow. I think you really nailed the whole Brink complexity right there. I can honestly say that I couldn't have said it any better myself. And you're right, Brink's being difficult mainly because his connections with other beasts have been continually broken.**

**Foxstar24: Good job comparing Clove's obedience to the whole "Animal Farm" thing. And no, I don't think Keetch is as mean as Napoleon. He'd probably never ship Clove off to a glue factory. :P**

**Foeseeker: And yet another good observation about Brink's depression. Yup, he's basically letting his whole life slip right through his fingers. I figured Brink to be a kind of sulker. His main problem would not be just his impulsiveness, but also the fact that he doesn't take the time to fix the problems and just simply mulls over them.**

**Jarrtail: Good question. Sorry I didn't clarify it sooner. The vermin horde that Missy Tulane spotted wasn't a third party. It was actually a Greymorg army.**

**Reynoi: I know I've been neglecting Brink lately and I feel terrible about it. :( Seriously, I really hate ignoring him, but he really isn't doing anything important right now. Redwall's in peace (for now). However, I can promise you that there will be humorous bits of him here and there, and he'll reach his own climax soon. Just wait until a certain part in the story where he changes things up. After that, he becomes major again. Look at the bright side, we're going to delve into Keetch's past a bit.**

**Sunshiine95: Shut up you! (she's my little sister, so I can abuse her like this... she doesn't have the attention span to read this far anyways, so she'll never see this). :P**

**ExcellentEsme: Wow, thanks for your review. I love new reviewers. :)**

**Red Squirrel Writer: Heh, bringing up good questions, as always. ;) Well, Skipper hasn't always been so clingy towards Brink. For the most part, he and the crew had accepted his isolated behavior. However, he isn't yet ready to let Brink go. Here's a good analogy for this: Ever had one of those times when a parent asks you if you want to get rid of something for a Garage Sale and it's something you've completely forgotten about, but you want to keep it anyways? That's kind of like how Skipper's handling this "I'm going to move out" phase. He simply just doesn't want to let go. I hope that... makes sense?**

**And yes, I've planned everything out for Brink up until the very end. As I said to Reynoi, please be patient and wait for it. Brink will take charge soon, and once he does, he'll be driving this story just like he used to. Thanks for bearing with the Brinklessness of this story so far.**

**Also, I agree that the whole Keetch-Clove relationship is really dysfunctional. I wouldn't say that Keetch necessarily dislikes her, though. For the most part, I think he just tolerates her. And actually, we've never seen Keetch actually react to anybeast he disliked. Most of the time, he keeps his mouth shut and doesn't say anything. So how would he react to somebeast he dislikes _and_ can kick around? After being pushed around for so long, you can bet he would want to be in charge for a change.**

**SnuffSnuff: Congrats on finally catching up. Never thought you'd do it all that fast! :D I'll be revising my old chapters eventually. I will refrain from doing chapter summaries sometimes. In the next chapter, I'll give a summary and ask people if the summary was necessary, and hopefully people would tell me it was unneeded, so I could stop wasting my time. If people depend on that stuff, I know I've got to write clearer.**

**DPBCLover: Hm, yes. I wonder who'll be lucky Reviewer 300? ;)**

* * *

**_Previously: Keetch falls down, down, down to the dark... what he does and where he goes, nobody knows..._**

* * *

**Darkness Swallows Whole**

* * *

Keetch watched helplessly as he plummeted down, the light from his lamp showing nothing but boundaries of darkness. The pitch-black emptiness, the chilling air ruffling his fur... those were the only things he felt. Other than that, time might as well have stopped moving.

_**SPLASH!**_

He gasped as he felt a lashing pain slap against his back, the entire place becoming dark as the lamp was doused by freezing liquid. At first, he thought that he had his eyes shut, so he opened them and blinked.

And blinked again.

But he always saw the same blackness surrounding him, no image of comfort available to him.

He felt the water gather up in his mouth and nostrils as he sunk downwards momentarily, his body paralyzed with shock. He felt himself tumbling in the darkness, no light to guide him to air, no sounds to remind him of life, and no Brink to haul him to the surface like last time.

At that thought, he forced his arms and legs to movement, waving them in all sorts of directions in his search for the surface. As he clawed his way through the water, he could feel the medicine case strapped to his back, weighing him down. _It's made of wood, isn't it? Shouldn't it help me float? But_ w_here's the surface? In this dark, how do I know where to go?_ He felt his lungs ache, as if they were suddenly shriveling up from the lack of air.

Panicked, he waved his limbs frantically, hoping that his efforts would get him somewhere. He felt his thirst for air heighten to a craving, and then he suddenly felt as if he was being lifted up, as if a lightness had suddenly come to him. Immediately, he ceased his struggles as he felt himself float to the surface. But the water didn't seem to be capable of breaking soon enough.

_Air! Please!_

Suddenly, he felt the crisp cool air on the tips of his ears. Desparately, he raised his snout high as he swallowed the air greedily, sputtering and coughing all at the same time. His breaths came in deep rushes as his chest heaved, his head plunging back into the water every now and then. As his limbs were growing tired of the stress, Keetch had a new problem to deal with. How was he going to get to shore? He could barely keep his head above the water as it is.

But it was so dark... and very _very_ cold.

_"Why? Why did I even come down to this place? Why? Proving _courage_ or something? Foolish... _Foolish!_"_

Suddenly, while his arm was swooping around the water in its frantic, ungainly methods of swimming, he felt it strike a rock. He gave a harsh yelp of surprise as he recoiled, not knowing what it was at first. Instantly, he started thinking about what he couldn't see. What did his surroundings look like? Was this a big lake or a smaller one? Does it ever get shallow? And how about the entire cavern? Was it large and spacious or a low-hanging area? Were there bats and slimy cavedwellers lurking in the area?

Or worse... what was _under_ the water?

He felt himself quake as he rushed to the rock, clinging on to it in search of comfort. He found none. His thoughts came again to his suspicions of the water creatures. What could live in such a dark place anyways? And while he was in the water, what was in there with him? For all he knew, there could've been some monsterous fish or eel circling him at any moment... or they could be doing it _now_.

He shuddered as he forced his grip tighter on the rock, shivering of cold and ominous thoughts. He looked up, hoping to at least see where he had come from. Perhaps he could climb his way back up? But no, everything was still a blank black. Panicked, he called for his companion, only to clamp his paws protectively over his ears not a second later.

"CLOVE!"

_"CLOVE- CLOVE- CLOVE- Clove- Clove- clove-clove- ove,"_ the echoes answered. Keetch, still pinning his ears against his head, let his paws sink down. Obviously, this place was meant for peace and quiet, isolated from everything else in the world. He was an intruder here.

He didn't know how long he stayed on top of the jutting boulders, but his fur had dried slightly. It was the only thing that indicated any kind of time to him, for down here, time did not exist. The cave had remained unchanged for years, the works of time and change working slowly at it, chiseling its features as slowly as ice melts in the harsh winter.

Still shivering, he turned his shoulders, trying to tug at the rope binding the medicine case to his back. Immediately, he felt an aching pang of pain on his sides. He exhaled sharply at the biting sensation, gasping in surprise. Was he really so preoccupied with his fears that he hadn't noticed that he was injured the entire time? Slowly, he turned his body around, wincing slightly as he moved. Now that his movements were more controlled, the pain was duller. He groaned as he felt the spaces in between his ribs.

"Damn it," he hissed, noticing a broken bone on each side, "Just my luck..."

Letting his shoulders sag, he studied the movement of his arms and legs, anticipating a halting pain with every turn of a muscle. To his immense relief, there seemed nothing else wrong with him. His breath chilled and ragged, he checked his supplies, only to be reminded of the cold fact that he couldn't see any of the herbs. And even if he could identify them, most of them were completely soaked. And not to mention, his lamp was gone, and so was his staff. _Fate must be laughing at me now... _

He remembered when he was still an apprentice, how he'd learned how to deal with broken bones. Lesson number one was simple enough- don't do anything to make it hurt. The second rule was to get a splint for it, though broken ribs were a different case. They were not uncommon, but how does one put a splint on your ribs? The best thing, he remembered, was to be slow and easy on your movements and allow the bones to knit.

Wistfully, he remembered how Grack, being the astute mentor that she was, actually let him practice his own lessons. He still recalled how Clove wailed as the cruel old hag twisted her arms with a few sharp jerks, and how she'd broken a few fingers.

"_Whether or not they mend correctly, it's up to your skills, Apprentice_," the vixen would rasp. Of course, he had done his work well, and he recalled that Clove had healed properly in the end. And now, it seems as if the mysterious sense of Justice in this world had suddenly decided to show itself to Keetch. However, its arrival and timing was crueler than he'd anticipated.

Now who was it that was captive in the dark? Who was it that was going to starve? Who was it that had broken bones and bruises? And who was it now that didn't have a single friend in the world? Not Clove. Him.

Keetch gritted his teeth as he contemplated the future before him. He would probably die down here, his remains never to be found. And would anybeast wonder where he was or go searching for him? Most likely not, unless Clove was particularly fond of servitude and slavery. And a fat chance at _that_!

But now what? Should he try to reach the shore? It was a risky move, since he could drown or some hideous monster would drag him under. But then again, wouldn't he die if he stayed where he was anyways?

He shuddered, unsure if it was the cold. Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in...

Slowly, he slipped back into the calm waters, his paw still clinging to the jutting rock formation. Gently, he lowered the medicine case to the waters, careful not to let go unless he was sure it was capable of floating. Luckily, it stayed half-submerged, though it wouldn't be quite effective as a floatation device. But then again, he didn't have anything better. Taking in another deep breath, he released his supporting grip hesitantly, his leg weakly pushing off his little island.

_"This is it..."_ he thought to himself as he felt his paws scoop water, _"If I die... at least I tried..." _

Continuing his trek, Keetch kept moving, unsure if he was heading in any place in particular. After all, he couldn't see anything, though for some odd reason, he kept his eyes open. Perhaps it was out of habit?

_"Just keep moving your paws, keep moving, keep moving, keep moving, don't stop,"_ he chanted the mantra in his head. So far, his methods kept his head over the water, at least. Though, every now and then, he'd feel his legs weaken and his nose would plunge underneath the surface. What if the next time this happened, he'd never get back up? He pushed the paralyzing thought out of his mind.

_"Just keep moving... Keep moving..."_ he told himself, feeling his mind's voice become a tinny, meek noise.

And when he first felt something other than water touch his paws, he yelped in surprise, expecting some monster of the deep. He stopped at first, knowing that death was upon him. But when the waters remained still, and there was no sound except for the _drip drip_ of droplets cascading into crystal-clear puddles, the snow fox released a sigh. Gingerly, he reached his footpaw forward once more, prodding at whatever it was that he had touched.

It was bumpy, loose, and hard, crumbling away from even the most delicate touch. _Gravel._

He would've laughed then, if his laughter wouldn't have sounded like a squeak. Giddy from all his excitement, he surged forward, stronger than ever. He was going to live after all! Now, with every anxious kick, he could feel the firm ground scrape against his claws, climbing higher and higher until he could step on them. And then, the water was gone, only up to his knees.

"Thank you," he whispered to nobeast in particular, dragging himself away from the pool of water.

Fatigued and breathless, he let himself sink back into a sitting position, wincing as he did so. It seemed as if his injuries would hinder his survival. But right now, his mind felt foggy, and he felt his eyelids drooping. He slumped down slowly, favoring his injuries as he sought a more comfortable position on the ground.

And now, lying on his back, Keetch thought about his prophecy, since he had nothing else to think about while he was resting. His fate was obscure now, and he seemed more likely to die than anything else. After all, he was alone, had no food, no light, no directions, and had very _very _little hope. And why was he here? At one point, he thought he was getting closer to finding some way to redeem himself. And the next moment, he knew that everything he did was at the expense of his own life.

But then again, he wasn't actually redeeming himself. He hadn't yet done anything to make up for his past actions. After all, he had never accomplished _anything_, and "accomplishing" was completely different from "attempting". And the most sickening part about this revelation was that his efforts would go unnoticed. When Redwall would be under seige and countless woodlander funerals were taking place, his name wouldn't be in their minds.

There would be no tears shed for him. And if his name ever came up in history, he would only be known as one of the better vermin of the world. What a fool he must be for Fate now!

* * *

**Dream Segment**

_One moment he was lying on the cave floor, completely exhausted, and the next thing he knew, he was standing on his footpaws in some dimly-lit hall. Keetch swallowed nervously as his eyes adjusted to the lighting. It was quite silent, and it seemed as if he were alone in this place. But where was he?_

_Carefully, he pressed a claw against his sides, surprised to find out that there was no feeling of pain at all. At that moment, Keetch knew that he was in the middle of a dream. But still, what is this place? It all seemed so familiar..._

_He squinted his eyes, swiveling his ears as he scanned his bleak surroundings. For one thing, there were torches lining the hall, and he couldn't see the where it led to. Secondly, there were numerous wooden doors embedded in the walls, numbers etched on each one._

_He took one small step forward at first, as if the place was riddled with traps. _

_And another._

_And another._

_And he was at the nearest door, a "48" etched on it in deep gouges. Tentatively, he fingered the rusty padlock that decorated it. Perhaps he was in a dungeon? _

Clank!

_Keetch jumped back in fear, turning his head this way and that in confusion. And then a voice boomed out of the darkness._

_"An' mabbe' nex' time you'll pay attention to where yore goin'!"_

_At the sound of that savage voice, Keetch ran away, heading down the hall. However, he skidded in his tracks immediately when he saw two other figures walking towards him, oblivious to their intruder._

_Panicked and trapped, Keetch scrambled around the hall, wondering which of the beasts would be the most merciful. He felt his heart clamming up in his chest as he stood there, waiting for somebeast to discover him and push him into one of those cells. He licked his lips and took quick, shallow breaths as their distances shrunk with him in between. _

"It's just a dream, it's just a dream,"_ he told himself desparately, _"It's just a dream. They can't hurt you. Wake up... wake up..."_ But deep down in his heart, he was still very afraid and the threat was all too real._

_And then a pair of ferrets stepped out of the darkness, grim and silent. Keetch felt his legs start to quake as they looked at him, though they showed absolutely no reaction to his presence. Instead, they continued on their way, not even changing their pace. The seer knew better than to run now. Doing so would only make him seem suspicious. _

_Instead, he stood there, waiting for them to reach him. But even when they came closer still, they didn't show any signs of awareness. Surely they must've seen him, since Keetch was already close enough to note their faces._

_They were of the same age and both of their faces wore a bored expression. One of them was several inches taller, and they both wore dull armor with a golden _Ψ _decorating their breastplate. Keetch gasped._

Greymorg.

_He knew it right there and then that he was going to be punished for his desertion. Deserters always had the cruelest punishments._ _After all,_ they_ were handed over to High-Captain Fenris._

_But how did he get here? Why was he dreaming of this place anyways?_

_The ferret guards were upon him now, striding forward in the same leisurely pace they had always kept. It then occurred to Keetch that they didn't recognize him, and that they would rather much ignore him._

_Keetch stepped out of the way, pressing his back against the wall as he let them through. _

"Odd,"_ he thought to himself, _"It's like I wasn't even there." _But then something happened that dispelled that last thought._

_"KEETCH!" _

_He jumped at the barking tone, turning around to see which beast had recalled him. There were two other snow foxes in the hall, the solemn ferret guards coming up to meet them, and each one had their back to him as if they were ignoring him all over again. But which one of them called to him?_

_"Get outta my way!" The bigger fox shoved a smaller figure to the side, making him collide with the wall with an "oof". _

_"That'll teach yer," the fox spat._

_"Quit yer squabblin', the both of ye!" one of the ferret guards snapped, "Ye want us to tell the warden about this?"_

_"No sirs," the young snow foxes said in unison._

_"Then get back to work!" At that, the ferret guards continued striding down the hall, not bothering to look back._

_"Huh!" the bigger fox growled, soft enough that the guards couldn't hear him, "One of these days... I oughtta..." His accomplice simply turned away from him, his head bent downwards the entire time. Keetch felt compelled to move away from them, though something seemed odd about the pair. It seemed almost as if the bigger fox had a familiar voice. Perhaps he knew him before? But what were the chances? There were thousands of vermin in Greymorg._

_"Feedin' prisoners and cleanin' dungeons!" the loud-mouthed fox continued on his rant, "What a waste of time! _You_ might be suited for this stinkin' job, but not me! Not Gargo, son of Gardro!"_

Gargo.

_He remembered that name! He remembered that bully of a fox very well, and he hadn't counted on seeing him ever again- not after he had gotten his promotion. But why was he back in the dungeons fulfilling the one of the lowliest jobs again?_

_Curiously, Keetch continued staring at both of them._

_Gargo seemed to be perfectly content to lean against the walls and complain, allowing his accomplice to do all the work. The other fox was much smaller, and kept his head bent submissively as Gargo's words rang throughout the hall._

_"The invasions! That's what everybeast's talkin' 'bout nowadays. T'won't be long now 'til the Ice General finally puts 'is plan to action. That's the day I'll leave this dump! Pah!" He landed a glob of spit on the floor. Suddenly, a blood-curdling scream rang throughout the halls, breaking the one-way conversation._

_"Gaaah!" the smaller fox reeled backwards clumsily as he pointed at the open cell in front of him._

_"What're ya screamin' bout now?" Gargo's tone sounded contemptuous, yet Keetch could easily hear the fear concealed in his voice. The smaller snow fox shook violently, jabbing a claw in the direction of the open prison._

_An ominous feeling clouded over Keetch, and he immediately felt some sort of familiarity with the scenario. Ears flattened against his head, Keetch crept up to them, watching as Gargo stepped out of the cell with a wide-eyed expression._

_"Hell's gates," he cursed as he surveyed the scene._

_By that time, Keetch had arrived next to them. And still, none of them paid any attention to him. He didn't mind, though. All he wanted to do now was to see what had terrified them so._

_"You clean it, Keetch," Gargo's voice snapped. Keetch spun around, wondering why Gargo suddenly noticed him. But the fox wasn't looking back at _him. _No, he was staring at his companion, the small, skittish little fox that continued to gawk at the cell._

"It's like looking at a reflection," _Keetch thought, staring at the younger version of himself, _"Why am I remembering this thing from so long ago? Why am I seeing myself this way?"

_Slowly, he stretched his paw forward, reaching forward to touch the Young Keetch. He felt his paw falter halfway, but he was curious about the situation. Now he knew for sure that nobeast could see him, but could they _feel_ him?_

_He gave his younger self a quick tap on the shoulder, shocked to find his paw sliding through the fox's body. He tried it again, the same results repeating over and over again. Whenever he tried to touch him, his paw just went through him. Was it that he was like a ghostly object now? He had to test it out again._

Whoosh!

_He felt the air against his fur as he punched at Gargo's head- _hard._ There was no impact or anything. Keetch just stared, his fist transparent, submerged in the fox's head, probably touching his brains- _if _he had any. So it was true... he was now experiencing his past through his dreams. But what was this supposed to show him? He turned away, but not before the bloody scene caught his attention._

_It was exactly as he remembered it- the beads of liquid red dribbling downwards from the bloody pawprint, the rotting stench, the blood surrounding the shriveled prisoner's corpse, and the numerous pawprints of blood lining the cell wall, as if the poor beast was desparately trying to claw his way out of his prison while his lifeblood seeped out of him._

_"The marks of death," his counterpart whispered shrilly._

_"Ugh," Gargo wrinkled his nose, "The damn mouse cut his wrists and made a mess of the place. Well _I'm _not cleaning this up!"_

_But Keetch ignored whatever Gargo had to say next, because he was now inside the cursed place of death, staring at the ghastly image. "Death in the Clutches of a Thousand Paws", the soothsayer, Sigma, had later titled it. Just the sight of it made his skin crawl._

* * *

Keetch opened his eyes, or, at least he thought he did. It was impossible to tell, since all he saw was darkness anyways. Sitting up, he winced at the pain on his ribs, a sore reminder of his injuries.

Silently, he recalled the dream to himself. It was strange how real it seemed, but he still couldn't figure the meaning of the it. Didn't his dreams usually contain a message, an omen of the future, or maybe a conversation with Martin?

_"Well, I can't really do anything just by sitting around..."_ He sighed, standing up on his footpaws feebly. His legs felt weak and they couldn't stop trembling. It was almost as if he were some elderly beast that was capable of withering away at any moment. Did he have enough strength to go on? Was he ever going to get out of here? He shuddered as he tightened his grip on his medicine case- his only possession now.

But which direction was he supposed to travel? It was practically impossible to tell in this impenetrable darkness. In the silence, he heard a rhythmic thrumming echoing somewhere out there. It was so very soft, but he was certain it was there. At first, he was confused about what it was. In the darker recesses of his mind, he envisioned a monster slithering about in the darkness, grumbling as he scented his prey. But in the end, he had decided that it was something more rational- a river.

Of course!

A river was probably the way out. The water _had _to have come from somewhere, and it had to _go_ somewhere too. Did it lead to the outside? It was likely. At that, he had made his mind and traveled to the direction of the sound.

* * *

It felt like forever until he found his way to the rushing river. It was difficult, decifering the echoes to determine its distance. It was as if the echoes were there to decieve him, but he managed with that.

So now he was one step closer to his freedom. All he had to do now was to keep his shoulder to the river and hopefully get somewhere.

As he stumbled in the darkness, he kept one arm outstretched, feeling for some obstruction in front of him. He had fallen and scraped his palms and knees dozens of times, but nothing more than that. He cursed his ill luck, for being in this situation in the first place. Right now, he could have given anything just to have some friendly company.

The going was terribly slow, and Keetch felt his time ticking by. He had plenty of water, but it was food he needed. _A beast could last for weeks without food_, he recalled, _but only a few days without water_. At least it was a comfort to know that he had several weeks. But then again, that was a very long time to suffer.

Actually, he couldn't tell how much time he had been spending underground. There was no dawn chorus from songbirds, no sunrise, no moon or stars... it was all a blank darkness. Sleep, drink, keep walking. Sleep, drink, keep going. Sleep, drink, pawstep after pawstep. It seemed like such a monotonous cycle for him. How long had he been here? It felt like about three days, but for all he knew, he could've been down here for a week! It occurred to him that he was probably more likely to go mad in this hell rather than escape.

And then, he saw a pale dot of light in front of him. At first, he thought his mind was playing cruel tricks, but then he realized that there really there. He could barely contain his excitement, stumbling forward doggedly, though he made sure he didn't hurt his ribs. Perhaps Fate was taking pity on him now?

It seemed to glow brighter with each and every step, and Keetch had almost slipped into the chilling rushing waters more than once.

_"I'm going to live! I'm going to live!"_

Imagine how his heart had dropped like a stone when he realized what it was. It wasn't the opening to the entrance at all, only a high window of light far up above his head. Keetch slowed his pace back to a heavy limp as he neared the teasing light.

It had come from straight up above, where there was a hole in the ceiling. Even if he could've fit through the rocky window, not even the fittest of squirrels could have possibly reached the place. It was too far up, and the walls seemed to be smooth and free of any rocks to cling to.

But all the same, he was grateful for just a little light. From what he could tell, it was daytime now. At least he knew that much. And now, he could see about him. It was all as he had pictured it: cave walls, a powerful, foaming white river beside him, and a yawning tunnel up ahead. There were even sticks littering the floor, no doubt debris that had fallen from the surface world. Keetch collected several of the biggest ones, stuffing them in his medicine case for later use. Perhaps he could light them sometime later. After all, he still did have some flint.

It was amazing, how that one small little light had given him warmth and eased his heart.

And once he was done basking in the faint light, he vowed he would be underneath the full Sun someday, and went back on his journey, a torch in his paws this time.

* * *

_In the tunnels of old,  
Lies an evil locked in eternal death,  
Writhing, coiling, from the heart so bold  
For it was the warrior mouse who cut his breath._

He didn't keep any count of time, but all he knew was that he was now finished with half of his torches. He panted, as he trudged on, unwilling to stop to rest. He had a limited amount of wood to burn, and he couldn't waste it by going at his own leisurely pace. He had to admit, even with the light, the doubt was creeping back into his heart again.

He had passed at least a dozen separate tunnels already, each one a potential exit. But how could he know for sure? It had bothered him that he might have skipped over the path out and never even knew it.

_"I could be right,"_ he reasoned, _"This river has to reach someplace."_

Turning a corner, Keetch suddenly froze in his tracks, his jaws agape at the monstrosity before him.

There, coiled up in the far end of the cave was a large rock formation that seemed very much like some skeleton. The snow fox stayed where he was, inspecting the rocky mass as if it was capable of springing to life. But in the end, he inched towards it, marveling at its sheer size and age.

On a closer inspection, he noticed that the head wasn't attached to the body, but was rendered off to the side, its fanged jaws stretched wide open. Keetch didn't quite understand what it was still. He had never seen anything quite like this in the North, and the images his imagination invented gave him goosebumps.

Shyly, he touched one of the curving ribcages. From what he could tell, the creature was huge, very long, and very dangerous, considering its wicked fangs.

_"I must be going in the right track then... Martin said something about 'an evil of death' or something like that, didn't he? And he said it was 'writhing or wriggling or something'... and that its breath was cut from a 'heart so bold'. Was it Martin that killed him? Another warrior maybe? Amazing..."_

The snow fox then moved on to inspect the skull. Its eye sockets glared back at him as he tapped at it gingerly. It might have been bleached bone white at one point, but age had grown over it, making it become part-rock; an ugly, rough appearance.

But somehow, its fangs were still smooth and white. And even more impressive was their size and point. They were easily half his height, and it seemed sharp enough to slice a blade of grass in mid-air. Keetch rubbed one of them gingerly as he racked his brain for the skeleton's identity. Perhaps the old crone Grack would've known the answer. Whatever it was, he was glad it was dead. But what if there were more of them out there? He shuddered.

He had no weapons to protect him right now. But maybe...

Keetch carefully wedged his blazing stick between two rocks as he selected a hefty rock. Gripping it between his paws, he raised it high over his head.

_"I'm sorry for this,"_ he apologized to the dead creature that continued to watch him unseeingly, _"But I need to do this."_

With that, Keetch swung forward with all his might, feeling a jarring holt to in his arm and hearing a satisfying _snap!_ The broken fang cluttered to the ground and Keetch scrambled after it to pick it up. It was a relatively clean removal, since the broken piece hadn't shattered to a thousand little fragments, but stayed as one. It seemed to be a formidable weapon, since it fit well in his paws and was the length of a short sword.

Carefully, he laid it aside and moved on to the next fang. His arms ached because of his last effort, but he decided that the sooner he was done with this, the better. He made a sloppier job of this one, though. Part of it had shattered as it hit the ground, making the piece shorter than the first, but still, it retained its sharpness and that was all Keetch cared about.

_"Lets see somebeast try to kill me now. If anything happens, I'll run these through its throat..."_

Carefully, he packed his twin treasures in his medicine case, grabbed his torch, and walked away. He didn't even dare to look back, afraid to see the angry glare the creature would give him. After all, who _wouldn't_ be vengeful? The creature's spirit could be cursing him right now for this mutilation.

But he pushed the thought out of his head. He had to do it anyways. It was for his own protection and he would make sure they wouldn't be a waste. Besides, he had to focus more on leaving the cave now. He could already feel this torch shortening as the flame ate at the wood and turned it to ash.

There was one thing that pleased Keetch, though. Martin had mentioned this thing in his prophecy, so now he knew he was in the right direction. Keetch scuttled back to the river, feeling hope kindle in his heart once again.

* * *

Meanwhile, in a darkened isolated room, High-Captain Fenris was having his meal. Most beasts, including the royal weasels, were disgusted by his diet- and with good reason. Very few beasts in the world could possibly stomach the flesh of another beast, especially if it was _raw_. But the wolf didn't give that much thought to it.

_"It's because they see a bit of themselves in the corpses... they're too much alike with the beasts they see lying dead on the floor,"_ the wolf reasoned, _"But I'm no weakling. I'm stronger that that... when I eat the flesh of beasts, all I see is prey. Nothing else. I have nothing in common with these carcasses."_

With his jaws, he pushed past the ribcage and ripped the tender heart from the dead stoat. He let the blood gush down the sides of his mouth before it disappeared down his throat.

_"'The heart makes one strong' was what the pack once said... and I have eaten many... more than they can count."_

Suddenly, there was a stiff knock at the door.

_Clonk- clonk_

The wolf growled as he rose from his kneeling position, wiping the blood from his mouth with his sleeve. He expected it to be important, probably a message from Lord Thanatos, since nobeast else would dare disturb his grotesque meal.

Sure enough, there was a jittery guard standing at the door with a paw raised to his forehead in a weak-hearted salute.

"T-t-the Ice G-g-g-gen-general requests your presence, High-Captain," the rat jibbered, his teeth rattling as he looked past the wolf and into the bloodied floor.

"I see," Fenris brushed past him and strode down the hall.

_"It must be another war meeting. Perhaps Lord Thanatos has made a change in plans?"_

His thought was interrupted when he heard clumsy scuffling footpaws come beside him. It was the rat messenger again, his mouth hanging open as if he wanted to say something.

"Speak."

"Yessir," the rat saluted again, trying to match the wolf's pace, "The Ice General has called every high-ranking officer to the War Room. He has ordered me to debrief ye on what's 'appenin'."

The wolf's grey eyes slid down to look at the rat. The vermin cringed and steered his direction to the left, farther away from the wolf, as if a few feet of distance would save him if the wolf craved for rat flesh.

"It appears that we have an enemy abroad," he explained hurriedly, "One of our scouts has returned with a threat note from somebeast. Apparently, one of the scouting party landed in the claws of another warlord."

A small growl escalated from the wolf's throat as he quickened his steps.

* * *

The War Room was packed full of the other officers, the beasts snapping at each other angrily. For now, chaos resided here among them. Fenris scanned the sea of vermin, searching for the general. He was found in the very center the mob, staring at a parchment with the several other beasts peeking over his shoulder.

Fenris narrowed his eyes at the sight. All the scared vermin that packed the room, each one speaking of possible defeat. Some of them were screaming for blood, and some were just as jittery as the rat messenger. Without another thought, he shoved and shouldered his way past the throng of officers, not caring if he made them collide with one another. Some of the officers even had the gall to turn around and yelled insults at him, but they were no matter.

_"Their words speak louder than their actions," _Fenris said to himself.

Noticing his arrival, some of the other vermin parted to let the wolf through to his general.

"What is it, my lord?" he asked in his usual gruff voice. The weasel general didn't even bother to look up.

"Read this!" he snapped the paper to his face. The high-captain let a rumbling growl eminate from his throat while he scrutinized the weather-worn note. He was fully capable of reading, yet he couldn't decifer the random, clumsy slash-marks that scrawled over the parchment.

"It's a threat!" his prince spat, snatching the message from his large paws and reading it out loud to him, his voice spewing with outrage.

_"Weasel, your days are numbered in Greymorg. It's about time that the rightful ruler takes the throne again. I will be at Greymorg's door tomorrow evening to discuss your surrender terms. Be warned: this is the only peaceful meeting we will ever have, so make it count for something._

_Nyara Reaverclaw"._

"What the hell is _that _supposed to mean?" Thanatos raved animatedly as he clenched the fragile message in his paws, "And _surrender _terms?! Never!" His face turned a brilliant shade of red as he reread the note, seething under his skin. Most beasts would've told him to calm down, in case he did anything rash. After all, his temper teetered on a fine scale and was usually kept in check by a few selected officers- one of which was Fenris.

But the wolf stayed silent, the threat fresh on his mind.

_"Sickening, how everybeast is panicking at the thought of a potential enemy. Spineless."_

_CRASH! CRASH! CRASH!_

Immediately, everbeast shut their mouths and turned their attention to the source of the clamoring noise.

A whole table was face-down on the ground, ceramics crushed under its weight. And standing right on top of the ruin was a middle-aged stoat. Though past his prime, Commander Dagmor was not a beast to be challenged. Everything about his posture had an air of importance and self-confidence as he addressed the officers.

"Stop squabbling and git yourselves together you mangy lot!" he barked, "This is a war meeting. If ye wan' to go cry to somebeast, go to your mothers or else I'll throw you out the window myself!"

Everybeast held his breath, counting the seconds before some unfortunate fool would speak up. However, it seemed as though the stupidity was scared out of everybeast, and even Lord Thanatos had nothing further to say.

"Good," the stoat smirked, calming himself, "Let us begin with the note." He reached his paw toward Prince Thanatos, his palm facing upwards, a request for the paper. Thanatos, proud and arrogant as he was, had no intention to let his old mentor take charge of the situation.

"The message is a threat from some beast called Nyara Reaverclaw. They must be either formidable or foolish if they think they can stand a chance against Greymorg- most likely the latter. They'll be here tomorrow evening, so we shall see what this army of his is made of. If they show any weakness, we'll cut them down. If they're strong, we'll still cut them down."

"Oh?" Dagmor raised an eyebrow, "So what if they're a formidable group, my prince? What will you do then?"

"Kill them," the weasel replied, uncertainty in his tone.

"But how will that little inconvenience of a second war effect your plans, Lord Thanatos?" Dagmor smiled, though there was no laughter in his eyes, "You've already sent the troops and we can't call them back now. At the moment, they might be just days away from Redwall Abbey. Hmmm... it seems that our troops here will be so tied up in war that the others will have no reinforcements after all. Are you sure you're fit for this sort of leadership and responsibility, my prince?"

"We'll focus on that after tomorrow evening," Thanatos replied darkly, his eyes glinting with cold malice, "Does anybeast else have any questions?" Again, nobeast interfered in this duel between teacher and apprentice.

"Good," Prince Thanatos said, his authorative tone rising, "Sharpkill, I want the sentries doubled. Skewer, take an inventory on weapons and provisions. Fenris, get a scouting party set- make it an advanced one. I don't want any more whelps running in to my enemy a second time. Dagmor, get the troops ready. And Sigma," he turned to the soothsayer, "Find some solution to this problem. Everybeast else, work on building up defenses. Understood?"

There was a chorus of "Yes sir"s and "Aye"s, and the prince nodded.

"Dismissed!"

The crowd immediately dispersed, the threat still weighing down on their heads. Little by little, the crowd trickled out of the war room, leaving it almost empty- _almost_.

"So Thanatos," Dagmor came forward with nonchalant steps, "I thought you said you could handle leadership?"

"I handled it just fine," the prince snarled, his temper flaring.

"Or so you say," the stoat narrowed his eyes, "But when I came in here, all I saw was a bunch of bickering half-wits, with you in the center of it all, losing your temper."

"I had everything under control!"

"I thought I taught you better, prince," the stoat replied cooly, turning his back to him. Thanatos squared his shoulders as he breathed in and out deeply, his chest heaving under his armor.

"So what do you think is this Reaverclaw?" Fenris asked, taking the prince's mind from the stoat.

"No clue," he forced his voice down to something imitating an even-headed tone, "Nor do I know about the 'rightful ruler'. And who the hell does he think he is? Does he think he can just waltz right up here and demand a crown? I suppose we'll have to wait until sunset tomorrow, then." Ever the listener, the wolf preferred to listen on what others had to say, and then make the final word.

"We'll give them a red sunset."

* * *

**Summary in a Nutshell: **

**_Segment 1: Keetch ends up falling into a big underground lake and manages to cling to a rock before her drowns. He then decides to make a swim for the shore, but is plagued by fear because he can't see in this darkness. He does manage to get to shore, and then he starts having more depressing thoughts. He's more depressed than usual in this chapter._**

**_Segment 2: He realizes that he's fallen asleep and is dreaming right now. He appears to be inside a dungeon, but other than that, he doesn't know the place. Then suddenly, vermin start appearing and he panicks when he sees the insignia of Greymorg, since deserters are always punished. However, he realizes that they don't recognize him. When he turns away, he hears something call his name. He turns back around, but curiously, none of the beasts were paying any attention to him._**

**_He continues to observe them, and one of their voices is very familiar. Suddenly, the name is revealed and it's Gargo, and snow fox he was acquainted with in the past. Gargo seems to be more of a loud-mouth than everything else, and tended to let his companion do all the work of cleaning out prison cells and feeding captives._**

**_Then, his companions screams as he's in a cell. Keetch rushes to investigate and notices that this experience is so familiar. When he's right next to them, they ignore his presence, and he soon sees why. He realizes that he's only dreaming of his past when he sees his younger counterpart standing right next to him. Curiously, he can't seem to touch any of them, as if he were some ghost._**

**_As for the scene that terrified the younger version of himself, one of the prisoners had cut his wrists and left pawprints of blood all throughout the wall. _**

**_Segment 3: Keetch wakes up, but doesn't understand the meaning of the dream. He then tries to find a way out, and hears a river somewhere nearby. He concludes that rivers have to deposit water to the surface sometime, so he should try to follow it._**

**_Segment 4: Keetch has no idea how long he's been underground, and he's thinking about how much time he has left before he finally dies. Up ahead, there is some light and Keetch rushes to it, only to see that it wasn't the exit, but a hole in the cieling that allowed light to filter in. There were some sticks on the floor, debris from the surface world. He collects them because they could be burned to make a torch (he still has flint to make fire)._**

**_Segment 5: He comes across a giant skeletal figure later on. He recalls Martin mentioning something about this, which means that he must be going in the right direction. He looks over the dead creature, wondering what it is (it's really Asmodeus). He worries that there are other creatures like this still in the cave, so he breaks off the fangs to use as weapons in the future, just in case._**

**_Segment 6: Fenris, the wolf captain, is in the middle of eating his meal (he's cannibalistic). He's suddenly interrupted from it by a messenger, who states that there's been an emergency meeting. The messenger debriefs Fenris on the situation and says that there's been some sort of threat being passed down to the king._**

**_Segment 7 (last one): The war room is in complete disarray as everybeast panics and argues among themselves. Even Thanatos seems at a loss for the situation. In his rage, he reads the note out loud to Fenris, cursing his ill luck. The message was from Nyara Reaverclaw, saying that she'll take the throne that is rightfully hers, but she'll allow one peaceful meeting tomorrow evening. Then, Commander Dagmor takes charge and orders everybeast to shut up. He then asks Thanatos for the message, but the prince refuses to show any obedience to his old mentor and states that they should just kill them soon and get it over with._**

**_However, everybeast knows that a war would change Thanatos's plans completely. Could they possibly uphold two victories at the same time? Not willing to lose face, Thanatos asserts his authority and orders everybeast to take extra precautions and prepare for war._**

**_When everybeast is dismissed, Dagmor mocks his former student's moment of weakness. When the stoat leaves, Thanatos wonders who Reaverclaw is, and why she considers herself the rightful ruler. _**

* * *

**If you're confused, I know. This is a terrible chapter and I just completely rushed through it because I wanted to get it done and over with. This was meant to be two separate chapters, but I don't want to waste time writing about Keetch wandering around in the cave. It would be just too boring, so I want to get right on to the important stuff soon. I know. I'm terrible.**

**The sad thing is, I really don't think I could make this chapter any better. When I've got a better grip on everything, I'll revise this chapter.**

**If you have any questions about this sucky, irritating chapter, just ask and I'll gladly clarify things for you.**

**So please, remember to REVIEW and tell me what you honestly think about this chapter, or the story in general. Any suggestions, ideas, corrections, constructive criticism, etc. are welcome.**

**Thanks for reading, and remember, I still do Character Bios for anybody who asks for them. **

**Sorry for the suckiness of this chapter. The next will be better. Promise. :)**


	35. Legacy of our Forefathers

HEY GUYS, and MERRY XMAS!

This is my CHRISTMAS gift to you guys! :D

**After the debacle of my last chapter, I decided to really work on this one. This is an important chapter, dealing with background info and all that good stuff. I really enjoy writing about Ragnar and Thanatos, almost as much as I love writing about Keetch and Clove (oddly). I don't know, maybe it comes so naturally because I know more about bickering siblings. **

**There's even a lot of foreshadowing, hints, and character development embedded in this chapter, so pay attention. ;)**

**I had extra time to work on this chapter, mainly because I had no school. I love all this free time. I even had some time to update my other story too (Destiny at a Different Angle). I mean, I havent had a double-update in forever! :)**

**Anyways, sorry for that last chapter (and thanks to everyone who lied and said it wasn't really that bad... just kidding). I'll be working on the revision (no telling how good it would turn out), so let's just forget it for a while. ^^;**

**Special thanks to all who reviewed over the week: Fwirl of Redwall, Awsomewriter123, Kylyn, Mangahottie740, DPBCLover, Red Squirrel Writer, Reynoi, SilverZeo, Foxstar24, Jarrtail, Foeseeker, and Martin the Warrior.**

**Questions and Answers**

**Martin the Warrior: Well, thanks for telling me the last chapter didn't suck half as bad as I thought (and you were pretty adamant about it). :) And as far as action goes, sorry I've been lacking at that. Action just isn't my forte (there should be a little accent at the "e", but I don't feel like finding out how to do that). But I do have actiony suspense planned for the next chapter or so, so keep an eye out for that. ;)**

**Jarrtial and Fwirl of Redwall: Good question about Clove. No, she never fell down with Keetch. Can't tell you what happens, but she'll be around. ;)**

**Foxstar24: Well, Keetch does have really low self-esteem and he even tends to hate himself to a good extent. It all stems from feeling inferior because he's a vermin... and because so far, he feels that his actions and accomplishments have already confirmed that he's not good enough. It's because of this feeling of worthlessness that he took up being a seer in the first place, so he could be more useful. Thanks for bringing that up.**

**SilverZeo: Well, Fenris is a pretty interesting character once you get to know him. Hm, I can't guarantee anything about him becoming a bloody savage, but who knows? I recall that you were the one that loved wolves and didn't want them to be the bad guys, and I even remember telling you that Fenris isn't the only wolf. Look at this chapter carefully and it should reveal something to you. ;)**

**Reynoi: I've read half of Doomwyte, and then skipped to the final chapter. I didn't really find it as captivating as I would have hoped. I won't say anything here, since I don't want to spoil anyone, but if anyone want to argue with me (I love arguing) or ask me about it, go ahead and send me a message.**

**Red Squirrel Writer: Excellent review, as always. Well, I'm going to take a shot in the dark and say that Ragnar is your favorite (after Brink, of course)? Well, this chapter shouldn't really disappoint you then, since you get to see more of him in here. As for your question about the scale of the land (very good question), Greymorg is located farther in-land, so it would take about a 3(or 4)-days march from the west coast to the fortress. That's how much time has lapsed, anyways.**

**DPBCLover: Yup. You're lucky Reviewer #300! Yes, I've finally broken down that barrier, and now my next goal is 350 reviews. **

**_THANKS TO EVERYONE FOR MAKING THAT POSSIBLE!_ :D**

**Awsomewriter123: Well, great job for pointing that out. Honestly, I never really expected someone to see that. If anyone noticed (or was confused), Thanatos kept referring to Nyara as a "he" in the last chapter when she's actually a "she". It's just generalization, I guess, that you assume a powerful commander is a guy. I mean, I'm not being sexist or anything, but that's seriously what people think like. Also, I wouldn't really see Nyara tacking a "P.S. I'm a girl" at the end of her note.**

**Kylyn: Asmodeus is the huge venomous snake that the main protagonist (Matthias) had to kill in order to get Martin's sword (killed in his own lair... I think he got his head spliced off or something). In the book (and show), he seemed like a symbol or embodiment of death. Some of the characters in the book even mentioned that he was "the Devil himself." So yeah, bad guy.**

* * *

**Legacy of Our Forefathers**

* * *

The dungeon was as dark as hell, but Ragnar rather enjoyed it. After all, it wasn't every day that he saw his brother squirm around like this. Although a bleak and dreary pit of death, it was _his _pit of death. Nobeast ever dared enter the Basilisk's chamber willingly, even if they were safely high above the leviathan. But he supposed the fear was natural, and besides, he didn't mind. Subjects needed to experience a little fear now and then to keep them in line.

"Damn this place." He smirked inwardly at his brother's agitated voice.

"Well it was _your _idea to come down here," the Demon King offered politely. Thanatos only sent his brother a withering glare before he kicked a pebble over the precarious edge. _Even a blind fool could see that he's scared._

"Faster, you slugs!" his brother shouted at the workers down below, "I want the monster out of there before evening or your hides will be decorating the halls!" However, despite his threats, the ten-score slaves still worked at the same pace. After all, they were already working as fast as they possibly could, tirelessly digging at the hard rocks for nearly a full day.

Nobeast wanted to stay there for very long, not with the Basilisk at their level, eyeing them hungrily, jaws smacking in their direction. And to further that threat, the only one holding that thing back was King Ragnar, who was doing a little bit of service with his birth right, though there was little comfort in that knowledge.

They had no choice but to slave under these circumstances. The lords were the masters and they were the slaves, and as far as they knew it, slaves _never_ have a say in anything. They were trapped there, lowered to the ground in a basket of mining supplies. And to get out, they would have to complete the grueling task assigned to them.

Hacking at the rocky walls, clearing out the debris, fortifying the wide tunnel with wood, each of the slaves did their part, though it was likely that they would be worked to death before the day was done.

"It's useless," the Ice General observed, "We'd never get done in time."

"Well, if we can't count on the Basilisk to make the job easier for us, I'll leave the negotiating to you then," Ragnar shrugged, "You'll deal with it, as you deal with everything else."

"ERRRRRRRR!" That growl was the only warning the weasel received before Thanatos rounded on him, snarling and gripping his knife threateningly.

"This would never have happened if you hadn't kept feeding your pet! Look at him!" he snapped a paw at the scaly mass that stared lazily at the pitiful prisoners, "You've over-fed him and now he's... he's _morbidly obese_! Because of _that_, we have to dig the tunnel even wider than we should!"

"It's not my fault," Ragnar scowled, "If anyone's to blame, it's dear Father." He saw the way Thanatos rankled at the word. _Father._

"What does King Argo have to do with any of this?" he spat.

"A little history lesson for you, baby brother," the king pointed a claw at the ceiling, "If you don't remember, our father was only the second-born son of our grandfather, Fengril. Our beloved uncle- I don't remember the name, but no matter- died at a young age... fell off the ramparts or something. Anyways, Father had no means to control the Basilisk, and it was wreaking havoc for Greymorg. For that, he buried all the exits under boulder and rubble. Why, after all that trouble for just one death, it's no wonder I was doted on as a child. Father and Mother wouldn't want me, their precious _first_-born, being part of some unfortunate accident, now would they?"

"I know that!" the general snapped dangerously, "Don't patronize me, you!" But Ragnar only grinned.

"Or what, Thanatos? You'll throw me off the ramparts?" Thanatos could only fix his brother with a wary glare, knowing full well what was coming next.

"Oh, you know you need me, don't you?" Ragnar took the time to circle around his new victim leisurely, "You need me now more than ever. Your back is to the wall here, Thanatos. Oh yes. While a large portion of your carefully-planned army is off fighting a war, they'll never get those reinforcements they need. Why? Because the rest of Greymorg is cut off by an unforeseen war. And what's going to happen, now that our- no, I take it back- _your_ 'grand army' is split, what is the rate of our defenses? We might just fail both wars," he smiled at that, his pointed teeth glinting a sharp orange from the fiery torch light, "_A double failure... General."_

"Shut! Up!" Thanatos drew his weapon now, but Ragnar didn't look quite as terror-stricken as he would have liked. In fact, he was anything but.

"Now, now," he said, his voice smooth as silk, "Put away that pretty knife of yours. You wouldn't want your key to victory to get hurt, would you? After all, who else can get this new intruder out of the way so that you can get back to your precious plans?" Thanatos just stood there, not willing to sheath his weapon and give his king the satisfaction of victory. Instead, he whirled around to oversee the slaves' work, knife handle spinning in his paw.

"If Greymorg fails, you go down with it," Thanatos muttered loud enough for Ragnar to hear.

"Hm, alright," he agreed good-heartedly, "But without me, even if you do win at least Greymorg, you'll never be able to recover your numbers to invade other regions. You'd have to wait until your little princeling son is old enough to speak, and by then, your chance to glory would have slipped right through your fingers. And, even if I did die, well, I would die sooner or later anyways. Hm, that's the beauty of it all, I guess. It's death that makes everything in life so much..." he paused at this, as if racking his brains for the perfect word, "... _sweeter_."

He would have preferred his brother to retaliate with insults or empty threats. Coming from him, it was amusing. But Thanatos stayed silent, brooding as he stared at the slaves ruefully.

_"Ah well, I have him pinned,"_ Ragnar smirked. He had always prided himself in always being a step or two ahead of his hot-headed brother, whether it be in age or wits.

Suddenly, a ferret came panting from the yawning tunnel, panicked and sweaty.

"My Lords," he bowed low, "Urgent news from the sentry. It seems that a horde is coming from the West side. They'll be at our gates in less than an hour!"

"Less than an _hour_?!" the Ice General echoed in disbelief, "But they're supposed to come in the evening, aren't they? By the fang, it's just after the afternoon, isn't it? Damn this darkness! How can a beast tell time down here!"

"Aye, sir!" the ferret saluted sharply, "But the horde's comin' 'ere all the same, sunset or no."

"Damn them all to hell," Thanatos cursed, "Not even time to prepare." At that, he shoved his steel helm on his head on the way out, no doubt to order his soldiers around.

"Ragnar," his voice boomed loud, even though the darkness of the tunnel had swallowed him up, "Tell your pet to behave while we're gone. The sooner those slaves get their job done, the better."

"Of course," Ragnar said, partly to himself. He leaned as close to the edge as he dared, looking down at the languid lizard.

_"Little brother, I believe you still don't understand the fact that I don't _take_ orders from anybeast. And besides, it would be so cruel to have the poor creature starve to death," _he chortled invertedly, _"And poor Thanatos worked so hard on his plans, it really would be a shame if everything fell apart because the Basilisk died of starvation. Perhaps I'll do him a little favor..."_

"Basilisk," he called down in a sing-song voice. Despite the fact that it was the monster he was calling, the slaves looked up at their king curiously, the stench of fear emanating from them.

"You've been so obedient, I think I'll give you a little snack to feast on... hm, say... the weaker half. Do you think you can cull them for me?" he winked playfully, a wicked gleam in those evil coals for eyes.

"Mazter will get what he wantz," the lizard hissed, crawling towards the cowering slaves, his stomach sagging on the ground as he approached them at a painfully sluggish speed.

"Well, it seems my job here is done," Ragnar threw a satin scarf over his neck, "Oh, and if the survivors start to slack off, get rid of them for me, would you?" The Basilisk didn't answer he last request, though; but all the same, Ragnar got a reassuring response- heavy crunching sounds and a chorus of screams. With a dastardly smile, Ragnar trounced through the exit, the sounds of death like music to his ears.

_"Now let's see if my brother's started the fun without me..."_

* * *

"Everybeast get into position. I want archers lining every side of the wall and I want soldiers ready for battle," the Ice General snapped at his officers, "I will not suffer a siege." As they left his side to carry out his biddings, he allowed one gesture of weakness take over him. Leaning against the table, he rubbed his temples as he hissed in frustration.

There were just so many things that could go wrong! He was a rising star, and now he was a shooting star, falling down to the earth, blazing away to dust.

_Enough! _He slammed an angry fist on the table face and yanked his iron arm-guards over his paws, the metal clasps clicking crisply. He had never thought he would have to don a full suit of armor so soon, but few things were to be expected in times of war. He inhaled deeply as he fastened his swirling cloak on his shoulders. A grey cloak. Grey, for the color of suffocating smoke, mist, and fog, for a snow storm against the cold mountains, the pallor of dreary Death. For Greymorg.

Next he shoved his sheathed sword into his belt, the silver prong-shaped insignia decorating its golden hilt. _Frostbane_. It was a sword fit only for a king, but all the same, it was his. And finally, he pulled his iron helm over his head, the bothersome cold metal pressing against his cheeks uncomfortably, blocking a part of his view.

"General," a voice called from the other side of the door, "The enemy is in sight."

"I'll be there," he growled as he checked his appearance in a dusty, cracked mirror. The broken image didn't do him much justice, but it was enough to assure him that he was prepared for this ever since the day he was born.

Without another thought, Thanatos swung the door open and strode out, hearing the war drums following the beat of the blood in his veins, his soldiers parting before him in nervous whispers. He ignored them. They were only foot-soldiers as far as he was concerned- expendable.

He looked among the numerous vermin at the top of the ramparts, most of them crowding around the west side, leaning out eagerly. And there, at a higher vantage point, was the upraised platform of the elite. There were four of those convenient viewing boxes in total, one for each wall, all of them equipped with archers and sided by stone walls and a roof. Fenris was easy to spot, looking out at the distant horizon. Even Sigma and her lackey, Gargo, were there to witness the attack that they never foresaw. The others, Commander Dagmor included, seemed to be in deep discussion.

As the weasel prince climbed up the stone stairs, he noticed two things. One, his brother wasn't there. _No matter. He can't miss out on blood shed, so he should be here any moment now. Huh! He's probably dressing in blood red for this little event as I speak. _

The second thing he noticed was a slender figure sitting next to his velvety seat. She was garbed in grey as he was, her silver armor shining bronze against the torchlight next to her, and on her waist, she sported a handsome short sword- his bridal gift to her.

"Lieutenant," he addressed her in a formal tone, "What are you doing here?" She bowed her head low.

"Here to fight and command by your side, m'lord."

"You don't belong here," he said, already motioning some guards over, "You belong somewhere safe. Come, the guards will escort you."

"What? But m'lord!" But she was already standing safely between two guards, and it was no question that her lord had made his mind. There was no changing it now, and to argue with him could only fracture his already-frail patience. But still...

"But sire-"

"Are you going to argue against me, Reun?" his voice like frostbitten steel. Hesitantly, she bowed her head in submission, her cheeks filling with a reddish color.

"Take her back to the Nursery," he commanded the guards, his voice sharp as ice, "Should anything happen, I'll let Fenris tear your heart out while it's still beating blood, understood?"

"Yessir!" they squeaked as they led his wife down the steps. He couldn't help but notice the anger she tried to hide in her eyes. Yes, she had always served well by his side, but she was a mother, and all females had a duty to their young. They were never really meant to serve on the battlefield in the first place.

"My, my, what's all this then? An interesting way to start the day," a familiar voice chortled. As predicted, the Demon King had dressed in a vibrant red. He had even added a touch of gold into his wardrobe, probably for an extra garish effect. It seemed as though his robes flowed and breathed along with him as he walked, and when he sat down, his heavy jewelry _clinked_ together.

"It's going to rain blood," the king smiled as he leaned back on his plush cushion.

* * *

The ragged horde stood outside the fort gates, weapons at the ready. Then a massive, but lithe, dark, leather-clad figure cut through the mass like a knife would cut through butter.

_Could this be the leader then? Seems quite formidable... a cat perhaps? Oh good... never see many wildcats 'round here._

Ragnar cooly watched the scene unravel before him, gauging the enemies' capacity. Oh this was quite an interesting bunch, and they should serve as adequate entertainment for now. After all, his little maze game with the slaves was getting rather droll and repetitive.

_"To change,"_ he toasted himself before he sipped the damson wine from his bejeweled goblet.

"General," he heard the wolf whisper to his brother, "Although already formidable, this army here is scant compared to the numbers our scouts sighted. This is far less than half of them." If Thanatos heard him, he didn't show it.

"Fenris," he said softly, staring out at the army.

"Yes, General?"

"Should we...?" he cleared his throat, "What should we do? Do you think we can maneuver them to our side? Do you think I can manage it?" The wolf looked upwards, as if looking for a sign in the sky, but he must've seen nothing up there other than clouds, because he wasn't silent for long.

"You can try," he said, his face still that frozen mask of indifference, "But don't let your guard down. If things come to worst, we should just get this over with."

"Hm," his brother hummed thoughtfully, "And what of the rest of the army? You said this is less than half of them."

"They'll scatter like the spineless cowards they are. You can never trust lesser beasts to fight for what they believe in, after all. They just flock to a strong beast whenever they see one, and they feast on his victories like a parasite. General, if the leader really is here, we should be quick to get rid of it, and the rest will run with their tails between their legs. If he's not here, well, we'll just have to finish them off anyways."

While he was listening to this conversation, Ragnar couldn't help but think, _"I wonder if anybeast could ever get him to tell a joke?"_

But his attention was brought back to his brother as he leaned against the ramparts, staring down at the horde.

"So, which of you is Nyara Reaverclaw?" he asked, using his most authoratative tone, "And what business do you have at Fort Greymorg?"

Then, the feline figure stepped apart from the crowd and looked up at the speaker, defiance in those eyes of his.

It was rags facing steel, sea versus land, a vixious lynx pitted against the ruthless weasel lords, savages circling soldiers, horde to the army. Of course, King Ragnar had expected at least that much for the army at his gates, but one thing caught him by surprise.

"We're here to talk to your ruler on peaceful terms," his voice snarled. It was a rough voice, but deep and rich at the same time. But then again, there was an undeniable feminine ring to it.

_It's a _she_-cat?!_

From the corner of his eye, he saw everybeast turn to look at him curiously. Was he _really _going to step up from his seat to address a gang of vagabonds? Ragnar only shrugged at them, pouring himself another goblet of wine. He saw the look of disgust crawl over the Ice General's face before he turned his attention back to the stranger.

"I, General Thanatos, will speak for him," he boomed down, "Now what is it that you seek?"

"I want to see this self-proclaimed ruler of yours, weasel," she snapped, jabbing a spear straight into the hard ground.

"Tell her that I won't bother speaking to a she-cat," Thanatos heard his king chuckle. However, it seemed that his brother was going to ignore the command and speak at a more reasonable level.

"Whatever you say to me, he'll hear of it," his voice rang loud and crisp.

"I demand to see your ruler and I don't intend to speak to any beast lesser," she yelled back, pointing a second spear up at him. Thanatos turned around, giving his brother an expectant look. Their eyes locked, and finally, Ragnar rolled his eyes and heaved an exasperated sigh.

"Ah fine," he shrugged again, pushing himself off his comfortable seat, "I'll see what I can do." He leaned against the wall, looking down at the corsairs down below. _Savage, ugly things with no brains, really. Well, they _must_ have no brains, having a female as a leader._

"What do you need she-cat?" his voice was calm and indifferent, a bored tone.

"I _demand_ to speak to the ruler!" Ragnar frowned for the first time at the request.

"You _are _talking to the ruler! King Ragnar, the Demon King!" his voice had a dangerous edge to it now.

"_You_?!" she guffawed, "_You're_ the fearsome ruler? A skinny weasel hidden behind a mound of pompous silks? Ha! Bring back the other one! I want to speak to him now, and come back when you're dressed like a _real _warrior instead of a queen!" There was a ripple of laughter emanating from her horde as she finished the last statement.

Ragnar felt rage flare up within him as a spidery vein sprouted at the side of his head.

"Just like a female! You can only throw insults but never a spear or knife!" he leaned farther out the rampart, sneering.

"Oh? It seems as if my little insult has damaged your reputation, _Your Grace_," she said with a mocking, flourishing bow. More chuckles arose, and now it seemed as though some of the humor had infiltrated the ranks of some of his own soldiers. In all his life, nobeast had _ever_ spoken to him like this, and to see that she was capable of getting away with it only salted the wound.

His lips pulled back in a vicious snarl, Ragnar barked down all of the worst obscenities he knew, spittle spraying from his mouth. The entire world seemed to hush, just hanging on his words.

"... your damned mother and I'll do the same to you, you slimy little-"

"That's enough," his brother gave him a warning growl before he stepped in between him and the ramparts, "I'll handle it from here."

"That's right! Let a _real_ warrior fight your battle for you!" a cruel jibe called from beyond the wall.

"I'll kill 'er!" the king seethed beneath his skin, but the Ice General was ignoring him, facing his adversary with a cold look.

"What is it that you wish to discuss then?"

"I, Nyara Reaverclaw, Hell Cat of the Seas, demand my throne as ruler of Greymorg!" she yowled, scorn pricking her voice, "You weasels are nothing but descendents of the _great _Grissom the Usurper, and for me, I'm the blood of the noble Kyrogue Reaversteel. Does everything fit into place now?" Although Ragnar couldn't see her face clearly, he pictured her with narrow pupils, a scarred nose, and an arrogant smirk hovering over her lips.

There were some hushed whispers between Thanatos and Sigma, but nothing could be heard from them. Finally, the general peered over the ramparts and gave his answer.

"We cannot accept your conditions, Hell Cat. You have no right to the throne, and you, a complete stranger to Greymorg, have any right to slander the royal family name. Take whatever lies you have and stay away from our lands."

"_Lies_?!" she snarled, her fists snapping the spear in half, "What lies? If anything is a lie, it's your king's descent!"

"Heheh," Ragnar sniggered, "Look who's getting a hissy fit now?"

At that, Thanatos raised an arm, signalling the archers to take aim. Just one quick movement, just lowering his arm, and the sky will rain arrows and death would come pouring down; for the few fortunate, it would be a swift departure. But somehow, it seemed as though Nyara knew exactly what was going on, even if she couldn't see behind the private platform high above.

"Don't think about it, weasel," she yelled. To Ragnar's surprise, Thanatos obeyed the lynx, his arm still upraised in a half-command. However, he only had to drop the arm... _just drop the arm_...

"Do you _think_," she sneered, "That you can just kill me with your arrows and have it over with?" Nobeast said anything. Even the wind was still.

"Do you think this is going to end just like that?," she continued, her voice clamoring louder, "See my numbers? It's already enough to make your soldiers rattle in their armor, and this isn't even _half _of it! Kill me, and the rest will come, only this time, not on peaceful terms. Greymorg's blood would be shed!"

"Fenris," Thanatos whispered to his right-hand beast, "What should I do? Should I just go on with it? Could I still persuade them to join our side?" His upraised arm was shaking now, probably tired from the strain of staying up so long. The wolf shook his massive head.

"Can't trust these ones," he growled, "Their numbers already outweigh us, and if we let them within our walls, that would be folly. Besides, there's nothing safe we can give them for their service."

"Just get it over with," Ragnar hissed venomously.

"It would have been much easier with the Basilisk," the prince spat.

"Move it, you weasel _pup_!" One moment he was standing tall and proud, and the next, Thanatos was bowled over on the floor, chain mail and steel clanking against the brick ground.

"_Wha'_?!" He sat up, propped up on his elbows to see a heavily-cloaked stoat in his stead, his arm upraised.

"Archers, FIRE!" At the Commanders words, the wind whistled with a volley of arrows. Ragnar leapt off his cushioned throne, eager to see the blood pool around his fort like a moat. Peering down, he was just a tad disappointed, however.

Of the numbers at the wall, less than half were skewered by the arrows. Some had taken the brunt of the onslaught, pinned to the ground, bodies like overgrown pin-cushions. Some of them were limping away, arrow-shafts not embedded in their vitals. And then, the rest were retreating, their rudimentary wooden shields still upraised. But most disappointing of all was the fact that there was one body he didn't see among the dead.

"So that's your answer, eh weasel?" Nyara bellowed as she slinked away with the rest of her horde, "Well you should know now, this _means war_!"

_Shoooonk! _

Another storm of arrows came upon them, felling more beasts. And still, that lynx was still standing tall and proud with her retreating corsairs. They were making haste with their departure, and they were already nearing the end of the archers' range.

"Commander Dagmor," Ragnar let his chin rest on his palm as he stared out at his retreating enemies, arrows still pouring down on them and beasts falling like his old toy soldiers, "I want that lynx's head mounted on my wall and her pelt to adorn my chamber's floor so I may wipe my footpaws over her every day. Do you think you can follow through with my request?"

"Yes, my King," the stoat smiled maliciously, still staring at the disappearing horde.

_"Hm,"_ Ragnar said inwardly, _"Perhaps I was wrong about war. All those cumbersome war meetings have finally come to fruit, and now it seems like the most interesting game of all."_

* * *

"How _dare _he?" The disgraced prince took another empty suit of armor and brought it tumbling to the ground with a tumultuous _CLANG!_ He watched as the helm spun around and around in the floor, only to come to a lazy roll. Attending him just outside her chamber was a willowy snow vixen dressed in a simple black dress with the prong-shaped insignia embroidered on her shoulder.

Everybeast knew better than to get close to the prince when he was in one of his foul moods. Already, he had slaughtered two guards and three slaves in his rage. Despite his fearsome temper, he soothsayer stood there cool as ice, watching his actions with indifference. She had known him since he was naught but a babe, and this display of hatred and anger was nothing new to her.

"ARGH!" he kicked a table over in his rage.

"Made me look like a damned fool!" he bellowed, beheading another suit of armor, "Weasel pup, he called me. _Weasel pup!_"

"My prince," Sigma said in a soothing tone, "Calm your rage, sire."

"Don't tell me what to do, vixen!" he shouted as he threw a fallen helm against the wall, bashing the steel in.

"Come inside, m'lord," she beckoned towards her door, "We have potions for anger as well."

"I don't _need_," he kicked her door open, "Any of your remedies!" But he stormed inside all the same.

"I was going to command the archers! _Me_!" he insisted as he paced to and fro, baring his fangs, "Dagmor didn't have to butt in! _I _had everything under control, _damn it_!" He knocked over a jar, stepping over the puddle of shattered glass on the floor once the damage was done. The snow vixen shook her head at this. Luckily, she had learned to keep all the useful things in the back room, safe from her lord and his tantrums.

"My lord," she bowed her head, "Please take a sip of this potion to cool your nerves." She motioned her apprentice over, the dull-witted snow fox carrying a sparkling silver tray with a bottle balanced on it delicately.

"Get lost!" Thanatos's voice grated, kicking the unfortunate Gargo hard in the stomach, sending him and the vial sprawling to the ground.

"Sire, please," Sigma approached him calmly, putting a gentle paw on his shoulder.

"_Don't_ touch me!" he swiped his arm at her, only for her to dodge it smoothly.

"Why didn't you see this coming?" he snarled, his face close to hers, "What kind of seer are you if you didn't see _this?_!" At that, he kicked over a table, its contents shattering at the impact of the ground. As Gargo crawled on his paws to pick after the mess, he couldn't help but kick him again, relishing in the yelp the fox yielded.

The sound must have spurred him on, since he now had murder in his eyes. Gargo forced another sharp bark of surprise, just before the weasel pinned him down with a footpaw over his throat. Cut off from air, the young fox began thrashing about like a landed trout, gasping for the air he wouldn't get.

"My lord!" the soothsayer latched on to his arm and pulled as gently as she could, "M'Lord _please_! He's vital to the future of Greymorg!"

She barely managed to pull him an inch, but the general relented all the same, releasing his victim, watching as the snow fox croaked and coughed as he clasped a paw to his throat. However, his interest in the suffering apprentice faded quickly and it wasn't long before he turned to the vixen, expecting an answer for his question. _How could she not see this coming?_

"Fate doesn't allow us to see every twist and turn in our lifetimes, my lord," she replied softly, distracting herself by pouring liquid into another cup, "You're only to see what Fate offers you, and _nobeast_commands Fate, just as nobeast commands Death."

"I can control when somebeast dies," he scoffed.

"Yes, but can you save a dying beast? Can you bring one back to life? No, that's for Death to decide." Thanatos crossed his arms, leaning against the wall as he breathed heavily.

"Come now," she offered the cup of brown liquid to her lord, "Drink. Please." The Ice General stared at the cup with distaste, though he did grasp it and swirl it experimentally before he downed it.

"That potion should calm you temper, my lord."

"What _temper_?!" he growled as he splattered the cup against the wall. However, Sigma didn't seem surprised at all by his sudden outburst.

"Come with me, my lord," she said with a bow of her head. Leaving the damage to her apprentice, she led him into the deeper recesses of her dreary chamber.

Thanatos was used to this place, unlike most other beasts. They would squirm and flinch away from the odd assortments of eyeballs in jars and dried tongues, clay masks with horrible twisted faces, grinning wolf skulls, withering scrolls of etchy symbols, dried plants that whispered of poison, gemstones and charms soaked in blood, shrunken heads, and the like. Her chamber was colorful and dustless, for certain, but still all the same, everybeast could feel the evil floating in the air.

"My prince has come to me for more than a swig of potion. I can tell."

"If only you can read Fate half as well as you read me."

"Ah, but I know you well, my dear Thanatos," she smiled, her teeth a perfect snowy white despite her old age, "You wish to know about this Nyara cat? Am I correct?" He only scowled, a confirmation of her beliefs.

"Oh yes," she continued, looking over the mounds and mounds of ancient scrolls piled at a shelf, "She speaks truth. Your ancestor, Grissom was not the only founder of Greymorg. He had a dangerous partner, a fearsome lynx called Kyrogue Reaversteel, oh yes."

"Then why didn't I _hear_ about it?" her prince seethed.

"Thanatos," she busied herself by swiping the dust off some parchments, "Your eyes are always set towards the horizon, the distant future. Surely if I told you something far behind you, my words would only fall on deaf ears. Would you have found the story crucial in the past? Truthfully tell me I'm wrong and I'll purge my soul."

"Fine!" he snapped, "Continue with your prattling then."

"Oh, but..." she sighed as she shuffled through more scrolls, "... I can't seem to find the right archive... It could take _days_."

"Days?" he snorted, "I don't have _days_. I'm not going to wait that long."

"Then what would you have me do, my lord?"

"Do you know the general background?" he asked, allowing himself to sit down by the grisly table. He even made sure to sit on her glossy, darkwood antique chair, just to make a point.

"A bit, my lord."

"Then tell me," he ordered, crossing his arms over his armored chest. Sigma was quite a talented story-teller; she paused for a moment, as if recollecting the memories and stories of old. And finally, spoke, her voice like the sound of cascading honey.

"As I said before, Reaversteel was just as cruel and cunning as Grissom. While your ancestor pillaged the land, the lynx lord scoured the sea, picking off treasures and such. Oh yes, they were quite a fearsome pair, and vermin would flock to the army as woodlanders would flee. Now, come a time when they traveled South, far _far_South, where there is nothing but a sea of sand, and where the merciless sun beats down on you. It's the exact opposite of everything you know and understand of this world, m'lord, but it exists.

"There, they found a huge, reptilian beast of poisonous fangs and a heart as cruel and black as its scales. They captured the monster, Grissom and Kyrogue, and stowed him away on their biggest ship. The creature, frightened terribly of water, had no choice but to behave, lest he sends himself to a watery grave along with the ship. Now, the fearsome pair greatly prided themselves in their new triumph, but didn't know how to deal with it. They couldn't sail on water forever, after all; and if they unleash their creature on their enemies, who's to say that it wouldn't turn on them or escape? So then they hatched up a plan...

"They stole away into the North, where the Basilisk had no choice but to obey them. He was at their tender mercies, dependent on the food and warmth his captors offered. There, they built their stone prison for the leviathan, walling him up. And all was well, that is, until they met opposition from the wolf tribes and other beasts. They had their backs to the wall, Grissom and Kyrogue, but they managed to cojole their prisoner into aiding in the battle.

"For days and days and days, they withheld food and doused the warming fires, letting the creature witness life without them. It must have been a harsh and cruel time, methinks. And then, when they gave him more victims to chew on, the Basilisk was desperate not to undergo such torture ever again. It was then that they proposed an unbreakable pact with the creature, that he should obey only them and their heirs after them, if he wished to survive. That is the pact that his majesty, the King Ragnar has with the Basilisk.

"The creature did adhere to their conditions, and they set it free to feast on the flesh of its enemies. Victory was swift for the founders of Greymorg, and with no opposition, they flourished, destroying the forest for wood and building our fortress with the captured slaves. Now, life was wonderful for the pair, until Kyrogue grew grey and sick with old age. He died later, leaving his son, as his heir. By rights, he and Grissom would share equal power, but _ah_, the ambition of youth. He tried his luck and wits against the weasel king, trying to wrest the Basilisk's control from him, but it was all foolishness. Defeat was quick to consume him, and he immediately fled to his father's ships, never to return... until this Nyara came along..."

"But the Basilisk is still alive," Thanatos spoke up, "Did anybeast know he'd live for this many generations?"

"Who can say, my lord?"

He narrowed his eyes, thinking the tale through. He had to admit, he never really thought about where the Basilisk came from. He was always just... _there_.

"So I suppose she thinks the Basilisk's dead then? I mean, who could predict that it would live this long? It's been at least..." his face scrunched up as he calculated in his head, "Twenty generations?"

"Fifteen."

"That doesn't matter, though," he concluded, "As long as she doesn't know about the Basilisk, she wouldn't expect it. We can still use it... but would we be able to release it in time?"

* * *

**Summary in a Nutshell**

**Note: I will try to refrain from writing summaries now, since real writers don't need to do that. First, I want to know if the chapter was complicated. So please, if you're going to read this, please tell me if the summary is actually necessary. I will also stop pointing out several foreshadowing/character development details, just so that some of you get more incentive to actually read the chapter closely.**

**First Segment: _Ragnar and Thanatos are down in the Basilisk's chamber, overlooking the slaves that are digging a tunnel for the Basilisk to escape to. Thanatos is really agitated by now, since he really wants the monster out of there to deal with the invaders. They had gotten a lot of slaves to go down to the Basilisk's cage to dig out the exits that were blocked off by rocks, but they don't seem to be going fast enough. As for Ragnar, he seems very calm about the whole thing, convinced that his little brother will "deal with it, just like he does with everything else". At that, Thanatos blames him for feeding the Basilisk slaves, since it's become "morbidly obese", so they would have to dig a bigger tunnel. Ragnar denies this and states that it was their father's fault, since his generation didn't have control of the Basilisk, since the first-born son died at an early age. Therefore, they had to bury the Basilisk's exits under rubble to keep it from killing everyone. He then starts hinting at the favoritism for the first-borns, something that was evident in Chapter 26 (Whisper of the Apocalypse). _**

**_Suddenly, a messenger came in to report that the invaders were here, throwing the Ice General off guard, since they were expected to come in the evening, not the afternoon, but it seems as though Nyara simply doesn't care. As he leaves to prepare for war, Thanatos tells Ragnar to make sure that the Basilisk doesn't kill any slaves, since their job needs to be done as fast as possible. Once, he's gone, Ragnar ignores the command and tells the Basilisk to eat "the weaker half" of them. Wow, sadistic._**

**Second Segment: _Now I don't know about you, but I find Thanatos more interesting than Ragnar. As he dons his armor, he can't help but feel doubt over his abilities, but he forces the discouraging thoughts from his mind. When he goes up to his platform to witness te oncoming horde, he notices that Ragnar isn't there, but he isn't surprised. What does, suprise him, though, is the fact that Reun's there. He immediately gets some guards to escort her back to the Nursery, but she tries to argue against it. However, he orders her to get back somewhere safe. She relents, though, hesitantly. And then, Ragnar arrives just in time._**

**Third Segment: _Thanatos and Fenris talk about their numbers and how the horde is only less than half the numbers that Fenris originally saw. Thanatos asks if it's possible that they maneuver them to their side, so they can gain more world conquest, but Fenris isn't too sure himself. Instead, he says that if you kill the leader, the rest of the vermin should clear out. Finally, Thanatos calls down to them from the high rampart walls, asking them what they want. Nyara replies back, stating that she wants to speak to the ruler of Greymorg. Ragnar is shocked to realize that it's a she-cat that's commanding the horde, and refuses to speak to them. However, when Nyara insists, Ragnar finally decides to speak to her. Nyara only scoffs at his garish appearance and insults him, wounding Ragnar's pride and flaring his temper. He then starts insulting her back, but to no avail. Finally, Thanatos intervenes and asks her what she really wants. She tells him that she wants their throne because it's hers by right and that their ancestors were old enemies. Thanatos then decides to attack them with arrows. _**

**_But then he stops when Nyara tells him that if he attacks now, it will be full-out war, and the rest of her huge, vicious army would be upon them. Thanatos hesitates, wondering if it was best to attack, and wonders if he really should try to ally himself with her, however, Fenris advises against it. Then suddenly, agitated by his lack of action, Commander Dagmor shoves him away and commands the volley of arrows. Nyara manages to survive, and retreats with her horde. This means war._**

**Fourth Segment: _Thanatos is in a fit of rage since he was just completely disgraced by his old mentor. Sigma the Soothsayer tries to calm him a bit, and he actually listens to her eventually. He demands to know why she didn't foresee this attack, and Sigma just says that there are some things that Fate doesn't reveal to you sometimes. Thanatos grudgingly accepts her answer. He then asks her about Nyara and what she said about the ancestors and Sigma tells him all about it (and I will cover the story with much more detail in the future). Thanatos thinks about whether Nyara's aware that the Basilisk is still alive._**

* * *

**So what did you think? Please tell me in your REVIEW. Was it confusing or something? Bad? Good? Intense? Boring? Any questions, suggestions, predictions, ideas, comments, constructive criticism, etc. are welcome just as long as it's honest.**

**Seriously, I'd like to know your predictions and stuff like that. Some of them can be pretty interesting. :)**

**Merry Christmas and have a Happy New Year. ;)**


	36. Raw Breath of Danger

**Well, I hope you guys had a Merry Christmas (and a Happy New Year). My New Year's Resolution is to stop obsessing with Fanfiction. Reflecting on the hours I spend on the computer over everything else, I've just realized how I don't necessarily have that much of a life. D:**

**Anyways... thanks for all you people who reviewed since I last updated: Jarrtail, Awsomewriter123, Fwirl of Redwall, Zinachu, SilverZeo, Foeseeker, Kylyn, Cinnamonpool, Sanfrasm, ightwatcher (deathstorm), and Red Squirrel Writer . Thanks you guys. ;)**

**This chapter is a little early, mainly because I'll be on my way to Atlanta (or already there) by the time you read this. So, I won't get much time to write for quite a while considering the fact that I'm not going to be around. Also, my mid-terms are coming up soon so I'll be a little busy for about 2 or 3 weeks, so don't expect that many updates in the next month.**

**Questions and Answers**

**Jarrtail: Thanks for the heads-up about the unnecessariness (is that even a word?) of my summaries. I guess it does promote laziness in reading. :P So, I'm going to stop doing that because it's a pain to write and stuff. I will make exceptions of certain chapters though. And yeah, I guess the plot so far is kind of confusing. You summed it up clearly though.**

**Awsomewriter123: I thought that Nyara and Ragnar would hate each other the most, I guess. And well, you're right about Thanatos's tantrums making him seem more childish than usual. If you remember, I kind of hinted his "anger management" problem throughout his entire presence and I thought, "hey, if anything's going to tick him off, it would be Dagmor knocking him over and disgracing him in front of his own enemies." :P**

**Zinachu: Well, I have to give Kudos for you for solving the little hint I threw in about wolves in the last chapter. It's not mentioned in her review, so don't bother. Also, I liked what you said about Fenris: "I love his personality, his coldness to others and how he knows what he's here for, not to serve, but to kill." YES! Exactly. :D**

**Kylyn: Sorry for the confusion in names. I'll try harder next time. Here's the thing though:  
Sigma: the actual seer/soothsayer (mid-fifties); snow vixen  
Gargo: the apprentice (early 20's); snow fox**

**Foeseeker: Thanks for the compliment about the dialogue (and sorry for the confusion in names). I did have trouble with the whole way I called Nyara "the female" and "she-cat" sometimes. And as for the sexism in the last chapter, I'm really not sexist. It's just Ragnar's thoughts and stuff (and Thanatos is a bit sexist too, but not in a demeaning way). And yes, haha, I can't call Nyara "lynxmaid". XD**

**Sanfrasm: Yup, poor Basilisk was pretty much kidnapped from his home. So now, the Basilisk is at their mercies here, and as long as he does what he's told, he won't have to die in this frozen wasteland.**

**Lightwatcher (deathstorm): Since you were heartbroken at Chapter 19, I'm not sure if you want to read all the depressing parts about Keetch's "verminness". I really wanted Keetch to go back for Brink too, but it would just make a better story of redemption if Keetch had something to regret. I have to say, though, if you do force your way up to this chapter, kudos to you. ;) **

**Red Squirrel Writer: Very good point about Thanatos's outbursts. Well, people haven't stabbed him yet because these tantrums only occur when he's seriously ticked off, so I guess they're less common than you think. Oh yeah, and Nyara can't really control the Basilisk because she's a girl, whereas only the first-born SON of the king can do that. I'm not sexist, just to tell you. It just seemed to work for the plot. And good job noticing Fenris's "civil" nature despite his savage, cannibalistic diet. Well, let's just say his past and mentality will reveal all. ;) Plus, thanks for the advice you've given about the summaries. **

**To the General Public: NO SUMMARIES PEOPLE! I'M JUST PROMOTING LAZINESS BY WRITING THOSE! ... one of these days, I might even go back to delete those to make my chapters seem shorter and less intimidating...**

* * *

**Raw Breath of Danger**

* * *

Keetch felt his stomach complain loudly. He'd already used up all his torches and he was reduced to stumbling around in the darkness once more. How much longer could he last? Whatever time he'd been spending down here, it felt like an eternity.

An eternity of darkness, and cold, and stones, and rushing water... Nothingness.

He shivered, hugging his arms around his stomach as if it could stifle its grumbles.

_Was it right, following this accursed river? For all I know, it very may well lead to the pits of bloody Hell. It's so cold... will I ever see any light? If only I could have a second chance... I would change everything..._

_I would leave Greymorg as soon as I could... I'd find a place... a place to stay and call home..._

He heaved a dusty cough.

_... But... there's no going back... not for me, anyways..._

At that thought, he staggered to the right. He would've crashed into the craggy walls if his paw hadn't caught himself. Breathing heavily, he began retching water, his head throbbing. Slowly, he sunk to his knees, not finding the strength in himself to stand up again. Right there and then, he just couldn't help but feel the chill claws of Death over his heart.

_This is my grave then... I tried... I truly did, but it's just too hard..._

He felt some droplets of water fall down the sides of his face- _salty_ water.

_"You can do this, Keetch. Don't give up now. You're almost there... You can still find your place."_

The fox's ears shot up at the mysterious voice. It was deep, and felt like it came from everywhere. Naturally, it should have frightened him and made his flesh crawl, but strangely, he found the voice warm and uplifting.

"M-Martin?" he croaked, his voice lost in the roar of the river. He didn't expect a reply, and he didn't get one either. If the warrior mouse even responded, his voice must've been drowned out by the rushing waters as well. But still, his words did its work. It gave him a feeling of strength.

Keetch couldn't help but groan as he lifted one knee from the rocky floor, his calloused paws gripping the wall as he levered himself upwards. Suddenly, he felt a biting pain on his sides, as if somebeast was gnawing on his ribs from the inside. He gave a coughing gasp as he flinched, but he didn't stop.

Upon getting his footpaws back, he still had to battle to retain some balance, teetering backwards before he leaned heavily against the wall.

_'Almost there', he said... He told me I was almost there... I just have to keep going..._

His grip on the wall supporting him, Keetch continued to move forward. It was so difficult, fighting his creaking knees and the fatigue that threatened to envelope him. But he had to keep moving... he had no other choice.

_Keep moving your legs forward... _

_Right. Left. Right. Left. Right. Left. Right. Left. Right... Left... Right... Left... Right... Left... Right... Left..._

Haggard, his figure bent and broken, lumbering in the darkness, Keetch lost sense of time again. It was as if his mind was a monotonous blank, as if Fate had pulled a suffocating cowl over his head.

And then the breeze came.

A glorious breath from the world of the living. He couldn't believe it.

It just didn't seem possible, but it was there. He inhaled again, tasting the earthy scent that caressed his face. It was a wonderful feeling, as tender as a mother's kisses.

Eagerly, he staggered forward doggedly, his tongue lolling out of his mouth. He almost laughed as he felt the tendrils of wind brush against his whiskers, growing stronger with each step. So alive it was- so unlike the dead, stale air of the cave. Oh, he would never take it for granted ever again.

One moment his paws were skidding around on cold gravel, the next, he felt some soft material pricking against his footpads. He gasped, stepping back quickly at the strangely-familiar substance. Taking a deep breath, he took one experimental step, hearing the faint _crunching _and _crinkling_ of leaves.

They were like music to his ears.

He took another step, relishing in the feeling of bare earth between his toes.

_I... did it._

He looked ahead, his eyes adjusting to the darkened environment around him. Stars had scattered the night sky, a thousand lights just for him. And the river bubbled past him, eager to roll into the open woods, free of its underground captivity. And the trees were standing ever-vigilant around him. It was all so familiar and marvelous.

He let himself collapse right there and then, his eyes already closing, embracing rest for the first time. He would have kissed the ground if he had the energy.

* * *

Elsewhere the next day, the sun was high in the crisp, cloudless sky, and the birds twittered in the woods as the two figures stood around a clearing.

"Are you sure we have to do this?" Brink grumbled.

"You promised you'd 'elp me with whatever I needed, right?" his companion grinned mischievously. The sea otter only sighed regretfully, wishing he could be anywhere else in the world... or maybe just disappear altogether.

"But this is so... _awkward_ and-and _demeaning_," he groaned.

"Oh quit your complainin'," Rosco laughed, "It's awkward... somewhat, but you _did_ volunteer for it."

"No I didn't!" Brink objected, "You tricked me! Usually you need help with fishing or splitting logs or... _something _else. Not this!"

"Aw, c'mon!" he gave the other otter a slap to the back, "There's no 'arm in this. Besides, we're hitting two birds with one stone here... er... metaphorically, of course. I'm rehearsin' my lines _and_ spendin' some much-needed male-bonding time with ya!" Brink only rolled his eyes and crossed his arms.

"Let's just get this over with, then."

"That's the spirit!" Rosco punched him roughly in the arm, nearly knocking him over.

"Will you stop hitting me?" Brink didn't know if Rosco really didn't hear his exasperated or not, but he obviously didn't feel like responding to it.

"Now, let's begin," the riverdog said, clearing his throat expertly as he knelt on the ground on a single knee, "Brook, I can't really remember the words that crossed my mind when we first met. After all, we've known each other since we were little tykes stuck in our cribs. However, I do remember the words that crossed my mind on my eighteenth birthday. That day, we were skipping stones at the Abbey Lake, talking about whatever came across our minds. You were so beautiful and funny, and I remember thinking these very words in my head: _'This is her. This is the one I want to marry.'_

"Now, I know- I know that I'm not the most responsible beast in the world, that it's my nature to frolic in the stream instead of do my chores, and play with dibbuns instead of talk with adults, but I _promise you_, I will do my best for you as both a husband and a father in the future. So..." he pulled something from his pocket. It was small and shiny, glittering between his thumb and forefinger. He held it up, grinning his milky-white trademark smile, the brass ring shining against the sunlight like a beacon.

"Brook," he continued, "Would you... would you... would... Bwahahahahahahaha!" The next thing Brink knew, Rosco's once-serious face cracked into a giggling fit.

"Hahahahahahahaaaaaaa!" Rosco took a huge gasp of air, "You should'a... should'a seen your face! You were so... hahahahahahaha!"

Brink, however, was staring down on his friend, who was on writhing on the ground, an obvious symptom of his laugh attacks. Sometimes he couldn't understand the easy-going otter. How could he laugh at everything every day? He was always smiling, always happy. Couldn't he take _anything_ seriously?

"Rosco!" he crossed his arms again, standing over him, "This is supposed to be something serious. And this is your _rehearsal_ for crying out loud. You can't break into fits of laughter in the middle of _proposing_ to her!"

"Hahahaha... ha... ha..." Rosco sucked in deep breaths as often as he could, his laughter slowing to a halt, "Ha... sorry... ha... sorry, Brink. I'm so sorry. It was just so funny. You're right, I should... I should focus on this. Alright, go ahead and say your line... I'll be fine. Go on."

"Well I can't do it when you're lying on the floor like that!"

"Alright, alright. I'm up, I'm up," Rosco said hurriedly, wiping the tears from his eyes.

"So... finish that last line."

"The last line? Right, right!" Rosco got back down on his knees once more, the corners of his lips still twitching as he held the ring up, "Brook, would you do the honors of being my wife? Would you... kmffff... pffffft... " he barely managed to stifle another burst of laughter, "Would you marry me?"

Now it was Brink's turn.

"Never."

"What?!"

"I said 'never'," Brink retorted, "If you can't take a rehearsal seriously, then you're not ready for marriage at all. And if you won't be serious about it, it's not likely that she'd feel anything for the proposal either!" Rosco only sighed, hanging his head.

"Alright, alright. I get your point... I'll try again..." he took another deep breath of air, getting all that humor out of his system as he got back down on his muddied knees again, "Brink... would you do me the honors of being my wife? Would you marry me?" At that, Rosco gave his friend a winning smile.

"See? I didn't even laugh that time!" he announced proudly.

"But you asked _me_ to marry you," Brink said pointedly.

"What? Did not!"

"Did to."

"Did not!"

"I said you _did_."

"Did _not_!"

"Fine, fine, fine! Whatever! I'll just say my line now..." Brink coughed lightly, clearing his throat, though his voice still came out as a strained, rough growl, "Yes Rosco, I would marry you." Grimacing, he held out his paw, letting the river otter hold it tenderly as he shoved the ring over his finger.

"OUCH!" Brink yowled as he felt the tiny ring pinch at his skin, "Get it off! It's cutting off my circulation! _OUCH_!"

"Oops!" Rosco started tugging at it, "Sorry, sorry!"

"Get! It! Off!" the sea otter shouted as he leaned backwards, trying to yank his finger back. And then finally, the ring released its hold and they both staggered backwards. Immediately, Rosco scrutinized the dainty ring for damages while Brink inspected his finger.

"Nearly took my finger with it, you did," he sulked.

"Haha... that was funny though. I'm hopin' Brook's fingers aren't as fat as yours! Ha!"

"Fat fingers?! Well, don't _force_ the stupid thing in!" Brink muttered sourly, "I pray that it doesn't happen during the real thing... and did you _really_ have to jam that piece of junk over my finger?"

"Stupid thing? Piece of _junk_?" Rosco's laughing tone died with those words, morphing into shock, "I'll have you know that this is a priceless family heirloom."

"Oh... um... sorry... I really didn't mean that..." Brink felt a reddish color rush to his cheeks.

"I-it's alright... I know, it really doesn't look like much..." The laughter in the air was silenced now, and right now, giving Brink an uneasy feeling.

"I'm sorry, though," Brink continued, "I shouldn't have said that..."

"It's okay," Rosco gave a reassuring smile, "I said the same thing about it when Skipper gave it to me."

"Skipper gave it to you?" Brink stood next to him now, looking at the "piece of junk" resting on his palm.

"Yup," he gave Brink another smile, but sadder this time- somewhat _mournful_, "He was going to give it to Aver... he was going to marry her..."

"Aver? Who's she? I've never heard o' her before."

Rosco heaved a heavy sigh, folding his fingers over the trinket protectively.

"She died... before he could ever tell her how much he loved her."

"... I'm sorry... but-" However, his friend knew the question before it ever left his mouth.

"She was killed by vermin." _No wonder why he hates them so much. No wonder why he hated Keetch._

"... Oh... well, that wasn't-"

"That _was_ what you were going to ask, wasn't it?"

Brink only averted his eyes, feeling ashamed.

"It's okay, though," Rosco smiled, though it came out somewhat crooked for once.

They shared a moment's silence together and all was quiet, except for the chorus of songbirds. Finally, Brink plucked up enough courage to speak again.

"So... did he ever fall in love again?"

"I'm sure he thought about it... wanted to... but..." Rosco shrugged, "No. Never."

And all Brink could come up with was a pathetic "oh" and a nod.

"So... I was wondering, Brink... Are you really leaving us?" Brink swallowed dryly. It was a question that made him grimace.

"I was really thinking about it," he mumbled, "But if you want me to, I could always visit, y'know?"

"We just worry 'bout ya. It's a little strange, because you were always so quiet and by yourself and now, we feel kind of like we've never really made you happy. _Were_ you happy?"

"I was... that's why I'm stayin' a little longer. After all, I'm bound by my word. I'm staying for the Spring Festival... and I would've stayed for that whether your uncle asked me to or not." _That was a good effort to sound cheerful. Not the best, but I really did try..._

"You know, Jolin took the news really hard."

_Of course she did. _Brink could only nod politely, wincing at the words. He knew she was going to hate hearing the news, so he'd avoided her like the plague. After all, he just didn't know what he would say if she asked him about his decision. It was already difficult to tell Skipper, but to explain it to Jolin? He'd probably make her cry.

"She's talking about going with you."

"_What_?!"

"I think she's serious too."

Brink felt another one of those ominous gut feelings in the pit of his stomach, as if somebeast had plopped something uncomfortably heavy in his belly. _And how would Skipper take this news?_

* * *

The sun was now setting, and he'd been traveling for at least two days. Keetch had to admit, even though he had found his way back, he was still utterly alone. He had survived on the things he'd foraged; things like roots, berries, nuts, and pears, and they all tasted sweet in his mouth- even the bitter herbs.

But in his past two days of freedom, he had found himself some better food just once.

He remembered it all, how he had chanced upon a small hut in the middle of a clearing...

---

_It was an accident that he'd stumbled upon the sight at all. He had heard some noise somewhere in the forest. At first, he limped behind some bushes, hiding from whatever potential dangers there were. He waited for what felt like forever, but the noises never changed their distance. Cautiously, he approached the sounds, hoping for some goodbeasts that might give him some morsels or point him in the right direction._

_And for once, it seemed as though he had gotten exactly what he was hoping for._

_He saw a mother bank vole humming softly to herself as she laid some laundry on a clothesline to dry. Immediately, he recalled kind old Ma Krammel, who died to protect him._

_And then he saw her little daughter kneeling beside a patch of wildflowers, humming the same tune as she plucked up a handful of the fragile little plants. He thought of Clove then, how innocent and curious she was._

Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.

_That was the sound of wood being split by the father. He was smiling as he did his work, looking up at his little family every now and then, a spark of pride and love in his eyes. Why he thought of Brink, he really didn't know, but he did._

_Hungry and alone, he yearned to go down and talk to them. It had been so long since he'd talked to somebeast, he wondered if his voice still sounded the same. Perhaps it didn't even work at all._

_Instead, he just sat down, content to watch them in silence. It was strange, how badly he wanted to join them, but he knew it would never happen. Not for vermin._

_As the sun settled back to its western horizon, he watched as they packed up after themselves and entered their cozy little cabin. As the stars began to rise into the darkened skies, he watched as the tendrils of smoke rose lazily from the chimney, and then there was a sweet, warm smell of spices emanating from their glowing home._

Grrrrr...

_He heard his stomach growl at the delicious scent. _

"No. I'd only disturb them. They wouldn't want anything with me..."_ But he still had to give himself one little excuse to interact with them. Anything at all._

"I need to know my bearings. I'd need to know how to get to Redwall..." _he told himself._

_Slowly, he got up from his sitting position, surprised to find how stiff his body was. Nearing the house, he felt as if every single step he was taking was a chance to change his mind. But still, he drew ever closer until he was finally at the door. He raised his fist to knock at first, but then he faltered, thinking better of it._

"It's still not too late to walk away..."

_Too late. He was already knocking on the door._

Clunk-clunk.

_He froze, almost as if he was startled by the sound. He fumbled a bit, his eyes darting around the clearing, looking for a place to hide. No! Why did i do that?_

_But again, too late._

_"Mama! Mama! I dink somebeast's at the dwor!" a tiny little voice sounded._

_"Oh my, it must be that old spickle-spike again! My, he's visiting us more often by the day!" the voice was a kindly, motherly one now, "Open it dear, open it!"_

_Immediately, the door opened haltingly as the little bank vole tugged it open. Keetch felt the candlelights' glow wash over him, more revealing than warming. The child's eyes widened at the sight of him, more of wonderment than actual fear._

"She still has to learn then..." _that same voice rang in his head._

_"Mama! Papa! Look! A fox!"_

_In less than a second, the happy little home was in panic. Keetch flinched back as the volewife screamed out of terror, slamming the door right in his face. And then there was a scuffling sound as the father blundered in his house, probably barring the door._

_"Stay away from us! We've never done nobeast no harm!" The vole's voice was strained and angry._

_"No wait... but I..." his voice faltered as he took a step backward, "I mean you no harm... if you could please-"_

_"No tricks, vermin!" that same voice growled again, "Get out of here before I get my hatchet!"_

_"But I-"_

_"I will! I'm warning ye!" he yelled fiercely._

_"Stop!" it was the mother now, speaking in a hushed tone, "You'll make him angry!"_

_"He'll attack us no matter what!" the vole retorted. Now there was a thin wailing sound behind the door. The curious little vole was now in a fit of fear, sobbing hysterically. And then, there were more scuffling and hushed whispers._

_"I..." Keetch began weakly in another half-hearted attempt, "I just wanted-"_

_The door jerked open and he jumped back in surprise as a steaming pot was shoved out, sliding on the floor only to topple and send some thick porridge on the ground._

_"Take it and go away! It's all we have!" And then the door was slammed in his face a second time._

_"But..." Oh, why bother? Miserably, he picked up the steaming pot by the handle and scuttled off to the edge of the clearing to finish the offering. After all, they probably weren't in the mood for any food- not after their fright._

_It was the first warm meal he had in what he figured was over a week, and nothing had tasted better in all his life. It was simple oatmeal porridge with a smattering of nuts and cinnamon, but it tasted so good that he couldn't resist licking the entire pot clean. He must've looked savage then, practically drinking the porridge right out of the pot, his fur tangled, dressed in rags, a skinny and gaunt appearance. Well, vermin or not, he was a strange sight._

_And when he was done and his stomach was content, he walked back to the cabin._

"It's only right that I thank them, I suppose, even if it wasn't necessarily an act of hospitality... but still... oh, but... what did I expect? For them to invite me in and eat with them?"_ He felt his ears droop at the futility of it all._

_"Thank you," he mumbled as he set the pot on the ground. There was no answer and the entire house looked dead, but he could've sworn that there were terrified eyes staring back at him from the darkened windows._

_"Do-" he made a sour face, anticipating another threat, "Do you know how to get to Redwall Abbey by any chance? I have friends there." That last sentence tasted like a complete lie, bitter on his tongue._

_"Southwest. But please leave us. _Please_." It was the vole again, sounding more panicked and desperate rather than fearless._

_"Th-thank you," he repeated softly as he retreated back to the harsh summer wilderness._

_---_

But that was days ago, and he felt himself getting closer to the abbey. He could _feel _it. For a second, he regretted just walking away like that. It was a good, caring family, and he didn't blame them for fearing him. After all the generations of bloodshed and cruelty that his kind had brought, this kind of reaction was only natural. After all, they did give him what he wanted in the end. Perhaps he should've warned them of the impending danger he foresaw? Told them to run to Redwall before it was too late?

_No. They wouldn't believe me. They'd think it was a trick... Why would they trust me?_

* * *

Elsewhere, it was late at night and the moon was just a thin, white cut hanging in the sky, shielded by a colony of clouds. Except for the crickets playing their songs in the forest, all was quiet and still. The birds were asleep in their little nests, fireflies floated lazily, and nothing stirred.

At least, the peace had lasted only momentarily. Rushing down the travel-beaten path were three figures, each of them panting from their long trek. They had travelled for many miles, the information they carried a heavy burden. Finally, the hares stopped along the path, exhausted from their efforts.

"How much... farther... Major Thatcher, sah?" one of the hares asked, panting.

"Not much... maybe about... three days... if we keep... travelin' at this rate..."

"Got any... tuck left...?"

"No luck..."

_Crack! Snap!_

Immediately, the hares' ears shot up at the sounds, scanning their surroundings for any signs of enemies.

One of the hares looked at their superior, eyes wide in her fright. "Sir-"

_**Snap! Crunch-crunch!**_

It was louder this time.

"Hide!" Sagewood whispered, "Quickly!" In less than a second, two of the messengers were tucked away behind a formation of rocks, fighting to control their breathing. Their leader, on the other hand, had leapt behind a bush not a moment too soon, not even getting enough time to shift himself to a more comfortable position before some beasts appeared at the pathway.

"I hate these woods," somebeast grumbled to his companions.

"Shut yer gob, loud-snout!" a stupid voice answered.

_"Vermin! I can already smell their stench!"_Sagewood thought to himself as he parted some twigs to get a better view. Sure enough, he was correct. From what he could tell, there were about ten of them scouting around, muttering amongst themselves. He couldn't count them all, but he figured that there were more stoats than anything.

_"Perhaps they're just an ordinary gang, rummaging about on their own stupid business. The sooner they leave, the better. Let's just hope they pass right now..."_

"I hate this place!" one of them complained, "It's so warm down here... Dang..."

"Quit your complaining," another voice snarled, his volume twice as loud, "You want everybeast in this country to hear us?"

_"New to this country eh?"_ He could see their faces now; big ugly things, and nothing unlike what he'd already seen. Suddenly, one of the vermin knelt to the ground, sifting through the dirt experimentally.

"Quit playin' in the mud, you!" a fox commanded in that brutish voice of his, but the vermin didn't budge.

"I dink somebeast's been this way," he announced, pointing at the ground. Everybeast crowded around, torches held high up to see under the light. Even Sagewood, out of curiosity and concern, stretched his neck out, hoping to see past the crowd of vermin heads, but to no avail.

"It's fresh, but hard to tell what or 'ow many," one of them decided. The other vermin nodded dumbly and grunted in agreement.

_"Oh corks! What if they find us? Where are Gregor and Danry? Who would they find first? Damn it all. I should be with them, making sure they're safe!"_

The lone hare could only watch helplessly while the vermin milled about, inspecting the area around them. Once or twice, he held his breath as they came close to him.

_"But what about Gregor and Danry? They're getting so close... So very close... Oh please let them move on. Please."_

"What d'ye think we should do then? Report to the Captains?" one of the vermin piped up.

_"Captains?!" _Sagewood felt beads of sweat trickle down from his forehead. _"You mean they're part of an army? The army that our scouts had reported? But what are they doing way out here? They're supposed to be traveling to Redwall from the _Northwards_ direction, not from the West... unless..."_

"Lookit! I got- _Aaaaaaaah- grrrg..."_

The shrill, blood-curdling shriek broke the his train of thought as one of the vermin fell with a _thunk! _and started writhing on the ground, clasping his throat as he thrashed. Immediately, the rest of the vermin snapped their direction to their fallen comrade, only to see a shaking, knife-wielding creature standing over the body. Sagewood easily recognized his companion.

_"Dammit, Gregor, run! Run!"_ the Major urged, wishing that for once, the young hare would just listen to his advice. He didn't know what would happen, but he didn't expect the hot-blooded hare to use his head.

Wide-eyed and panting, Sagewood stared at the hopeless scene before him- a single hare against at least ten vermin. Watching as the foes closed in around his friend, he wanted so desperately to run up and help him. But what would be the point? He'd only manage to kill one or two before he himself was brought down. And who would warn Redwall then? He grit his teeth, clenching his fists so tight that his nails dug into his palm.

And poor Gregor, clasping the knife in both paws, was growling at them. But he might as well have been putting on a good show, since they laughed and sniggered among themselves so heartily.

_"No! Don't be a hero, you! Please Gregor, just fight your way through one and make a run for it!"_

"Ruuuuuuuun!" That was his last word of the daring hare as he charged at his foes, hacking and slashing blindly as the vermin fell on him, their cruel, rusty daggers and cutlasses plunging in and out of the air.

Immediately, Major Thatcher sprung to his footpaws and made a run for it. In his terror, he nearly ran straight into the foul-smelling figure, only to make a quick turn to avoid the collision.

He gagged as he felt a sharp tug at the collar of his suit. In sheer panic, he unsheathed his dagger and plunged it into the empty air, hoping that it would at least injure his opponent. He had never been so scared in his life. The world felt as if it was spinning around and around and around, and all those torch lights were spinning with it, and those vermins' voices were so savage.

He heard a satisfying scream as his stabs finally came to a heavy halt. In his pain, the vermin withdrew, the blade still embedded in its flesh. Just as he lost his grip on his weapon, Sagewood could only yelp as he felt a hefty kick in his stomach as the vermin lashed out. He stumbled on the ground, feeling sick and dazed.

All he wanted to do now was to kneel over the ground and retch, but he couldn't even muster the wits to do just _that._

"Oof!" In his moment of weakness, lying flat on the ground with his soft stomach exposed, one of the vermin stomped down on his shoulder. He gave another cry of pain as the cruel beast dug his heel into it.

"I got 'im! I got 'im!

It was so hard to tell what was happening. All he knew was that it was dark... so many sounds... and what was that thing standing on him? Was it a weasel? A fox? A ferret? It didn't matter and he couldn't tell anyways. All he knew was that he wanted the pain _off_!

In his moment of desperation, he kicked his footpaws up, catching his assailant in the stomach. Winded, the assailant released him and reeled backwards. Sagewood staggered back on his knees, his mind awhirl.

"Ugh!" he grunted as he felt an impact slap on his back. He knew right then that some steel had found its way to slice into his back. He spun around, half-expecting to see the hilt of a knife or something, but instead, he saw the pained eyes of another hare.

_"No! Oh please, no! Not you too!" _

"Run! Get out of here, Major," the haremaid coughed, blood staining her lips as the light died from her eyes. With a sickening _thud_, she slipped off of him, a knife hilt buried in her back.

If he had any time to reflect on the situation, Sagewood would have honored his fallen friends' wishes and dashed off to finish the mission, their memories on his mind. But this was all harder than it looked, and he wasn't thinking nearly as much about their sacrifices as he should've.

He jumped back, hearing the thumpingf of his speeding heart in his ears. It grew faster and faster and faster, until he felt as if it would finally tire out and stop completely.

"_Please stop this madness, or I will go insane!"_

Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw two rushing at him, those wicked weapons of theirs cutting the air. With all the natural swiftness of a hare, he dodged their clumsy swipes, landing hard kicks on them. He didn't know where he kicked them, only that he had to fight them back somehow. Noticing that one of them fell, he snatched the short sword out of his paw, and in one motion, he raised the weapon over his head and plunged it into his chest.

"Gyak!" the creature gasped, and it was still, its breath stolen from him.

_"Dead. Just like Gregor and Danry. Murdered like them." _Without another thought, he ran down the dirt path, faster than he felt he had ever run in his entire life. It felt as if the entire world was wooshing right past him as the voices of the vermin faded with each step.

"Look! There one goes now!"

"After 'im!"

"Yaaaar!"

_Sssss-thunk!_

The hare leapt to the right, just barely avoiding being impaled by a javelin. With a gasp, he found the energy to give an extra spurt of speed, panting and running like the demons were after him. Jumping over logs, clearing streams, stumbling and sliding down hills- he did whatever he could to get away from them as fast as possible.

Only after he ran out of breath did he stop and sit down, panting. He collapsed on his knees, heaving and retching the most foul-smelling, evil-tasting stuff, tears streaming from his eyes.

Once that vile work was finally done and he had nothing left to rid of his system, he sat down on the muddy ground as he wept and shook. He now felt the biting wounds where the vicious vermin had trampled, beat, and stabbed at him. The most painful injury was the one on his back.

It was a deep wound, and had Danry not been there to shield him, the blade would have left a bigger, more fatal mark. It hurt to move now, but he didn't care. He didn't want to run anymore. He just wanted to curl up and cry alone in the dark.

_"Gregor and Danry... I shouldn't have let you two come. Why? You were still so young and inexperienced. I should've been hiding with you when they came... Oh, but why didn't I? I was in charge. Why?! And Gregor... you died trying to protect us. You sacrificed your life to give us a chance to escape. And then I blew it. I ran straight into the enemy and Danry had to pay for it. She died for me... they both did... WHY?!_ I_ was the leader._ I_ was supposed to be the one protecting you... not the other way around, damn it..."_

He gave a strangled sob of despair as he bit his lip. He felt something slide from his paw, and then he realized that he'd absent-mindedly been clutching the vermin's short sword the entire time. He had kept his fists clenched around the weapon and had never slackened his hold until now, when he could find the time to remember and regret.

Still grieving, he looked it over, noticing the simple shape and the shining Ψ embedded on the hilt. Perhaps he would need to use it later? He prayed fervently that he wouldn't. Inhaling a deep, cleansing breath, he recalled his mission- no, _their_ mission.

He had to finish it for them- they would want him to. After all, Redwall needed to know of the danger that is coming for them. They had no idea that the vermin were coming at them from at least both sides, boxing them in. He _had _to tell them. But first, he had to gather his strength. He had to rest.

And in his sorrow, he cradled his head in his paws as he sobbed and let the heavy loss consume him.

* * *

**And my chapters just get more and more depressing. Well, the Brink segment was a little more light-hearted, for once. Um... well, I can't really say much more than that, since I'm trying to cut back on summarizing. :X**

**Did you find Brink's part funny though? Oh, and Brook was the one that took care of Brink when he first arrived in... Chapter 21, I think.**

**And as for poor Sagewood, sure he might've been kind of a jerk in his last (and first) appearance, but this is just depressing. I hope I carried the depression bit right. And as for Keetch's part, that's depressing too. Man, I just love giving my characters trauma, don't I? Ha, I'm such an abusive author!**

**Oh, and the whole action/suspense scene is for my loyal reviewer, Martin the Warrior (anonymous), since you've been wanting/demanding some action for quite some time. ;) Hope it was a nice little heart-breaking actiony thing.**

**The next chapter... well, part of the next chapter was meant to be the end of this chapter, but I decided to push it back. **

**Please remember to REVIEW and give any honest opinion, comment, suggestions, constructive criticisms, etc. because I really love to hear from you guys. I mean, look at the action scene I made just for Martin the Warrior (the anonymous reviewer, not the character). I wasn't going to put it there, but since he asked for it, I decided to (and I'm glad he gave his honest opinion about the lack of action too). So yes, I do listen to you guys.**

**Oh yeah, and remember, I still do those semi-spoilery character biographies still. :)**

**Thanks for reading.**


	37. Sweet Sorrow is the Gold of Tomorrow

**First off, I actually finished this chapter sooner than I expected. Ha, that's what happens when I "study", I suppose. I'm such an odd mix of perfectionism and procrastination sometimes, it isn't funny. Don't expect a new chapter next week, since I'll be busy with exams (ha, I said that last time). Anyways, here's the next chapter, along with a contest to keep you guys motivated. I haven't done that in a while. :)**

**Just read the chapter and read the directions at the end. Something tells me that everyone is going to like this chapter. ;)**

**Special thanks to all who reviewed: Lightwatcher, Cinnamonpool, Foeseeker, Awsomewriter123, Fwirl of Redwall, Jarrtail, SnuffSnuff, Clash of Fire, Moomoogirl1, and SilverZeo. You guys are just the greatest, you know that? :D**

**Questions and Answers**

**Lightwatcher: Thank you so much for the multiple reviews. I always got excited whenever my email said I had "5 messages" and stuff. Anyways, now to answer some of your questions. The dream in that chapter with the mystery otter is actually Deyna from "The Taggerung", not Grath Longfletch. It's just that I thought that someone who grew up with vermin would really appreciate a reformed fox the most. As for how Keetch knows about Greymorg, well, he was born and raised there. As for the Basilisk being trapped, I suppose he's more confined than trapped. Anyways, I do have one question. You said that the Long Patrol part in the last chapter was kind of depressing and I needed some work on it. Well, if what you meant was that it was too depressing, that was what I was going for (if you didn't know, I'm kind of a grim writer I suppose). Was there any kind of error or lack of energy to the segment? Just wondering. Anyways, thanks so much for your reviews. And by the way, congrats on finally catching up with the current chapter. :)**

**Fwirl of Redwall: Good job at pointing out the whole "Thatcher/Sagewood" discrepancy. I really just overlooked how confusing it was. Well, they aren't two different hares, they're just one, since his full name is Sagewood Thatcher, so he can be referred by either his first or last name.**

**SnuffSnuff: Thanks for your review. And thanks for pointing out how my chapters are always rife with unnecessary ellipses. I think I've cut down on those (or at least, I hope so). Whenever I add those things, it's because every discussion or thought has a pause, so I wanted to make it sound more realistic. I just wanted to explain my "writer's logic". So thanks for the advice about the emotions too. I'll work on that. :)**

**Clash of Fire: YAY for new readers! That alone makes me happy enough, but when someone gives me so many compliments, it just makes my entire day. And you actually did the Almost-Impossible and finished it in an entire day as well. (gasp) I guess I could refrain from making this story completely dark, I suppose. Can't promise that much with this chapter, but just keep reading on. (winkwink) As for the title fitting the storyline, I'm glad you pointed it out. I've always wanted to explain the meaning behind "The Chains that Bind Us". See, it can be looked at both literally and metaphorically. The beginning plot to the story can be taken more literally, I suppose, because they're chained together. In the current plot, however, they are still bound together, but their bound by their friendship rather than those physical chains. You can also look at those chains as the will of Fate or something instead of friendship too. Thanks a lot for your really long review. :D**

**So read and enjoy everyone!**

* * *

**Sweet Sorrow is the Gold of Tomorrow**

* * *

It was a haggard, filthy, bristled figure staring back at him. The brown fur was stuck up in tufts, the eyes a dull coppery color instead of the usual sharp golden amber hue, and its rib cages were pressed up against its sides. And as for the scrappy cloak it wore, well, it had most likely seen better days- _much_ better days.

To be honest, Keetch almost didn't recognize himself.

Upon looking into the calm waters of the crystal lake, he felt around his face as if he couldn't quite believe the transformation. But then again, after all he'd been through, he should've anticipated the worst.

Gingerly, he splashed some of the cooling water on his face. The dirt and dust clung to his fur like fleas and he had to comb his fur through his fingers. It was quite a tedious and somewhat painful procedure, but he managed. It was a small improvement to this hopeless, beggar-like look, but he supposed it was better than looking like a complete savage in the woods.

After all, if he ever happened to run across a Redwaller or maybe an old acquaintance, what would they say or think? Well, for one thing, he didn't want them to ask any questions about what he'd _really_ been up to for the past two seasons.

As far as he saw it, there was nothing good to be salvaged from the fact that he had underwent apprenticeship from a vengeful, bitter, and wholly-insane vixen. _Even if it was for the sake of Redwall and every goodbeast in general, I'm not quite sure if that's enough..._

And then there was the little slave, Clove. There was no doubt in his mind that they would weep over her story if it was ever told. And speaking of which, just where was that rabbit? She hadn't fallen into the cave with him; he was quite certain about that. But still, where was she? Could it have been that she had wandered away and found a home among the woodlanders?

_And she wouldn't tell them about me, would she? She probably thought I was long gone- dead. And then she would tell them everything about my training, my treatment towards her, her slavery, my assumed death, _everything. _And what if word got to Redwall? She would've ruined everything I've been working for. _

_Also, it's not likely that she'd remember that pitiful lie about me saving her from a gang of vermin either. She'd just tell them the truth straight-out. And if that ever happens..._Oooooh!_ I would wring her little neck!_

It was entirely possible. After all, it had been days since he'd last seen her, and that was plenty of time to get to somebeast. Or perhaps she had been taken by a group of vermin? That was a possibility, even if vermin haven't been sited as often in Mossflower. And besides, she wouldn't actually be _dumb_ enough to approach them, would she?

_She had seen nobeast else in her life besides me and Grack, so she wouldn't even know the difference between "goodbeast" and "vermin" if it were staring at her in the face. __Huh, if she actually did get taken by vermin, I don't think I would have anything to worry about, would I? _

With that thought in mind, he struggled off his knees. He didn't know how much time he had left before it was too late for Redwall. And the quarry was right along the way to the redstone abbey as well.

_Would Clove still be there? If she wasn't, then I'd have to rush to Redwall. But if she was...? But what would the chance of that be? She wouldn't stay there for all this time, waiting for more orders and snappish commands. Nobeast would._

With an quick swipe of his paw, he grabbed his medicine case and continued on his way. But still, questions still buzzing around his mind.

_What would he say if she was at Redwall?  
Would she tell them all about me? The truth?  
And if she wasn't there, would they believe me? After all,_ I am_ a vermin.  
Just how would I justify knowing about the on-coming danger? Would they call me a spy or accuse me of being a part of that horde?  
And what if the worst comes to the worst and I was revealed to be a seer? How would they take it? Would they cast me out? Would they?_

_It doesn't matter... the quarry is just a little farther off. If that Clove is there, well, I suppose my problems are solved. If she'll cooperate, she'll be the one that builds the Redwallers' trust. And if she isn't there... well, then I'll just go on my way without her and hope she hasn't done anything to destroy my chances of making things right. But for all I know, they could just act like that family of voles from two days ago..._

He winced at the memory still fresh on his mind. It was almost as if it were a tender, raw wound that stung everytime it was touched. Even if it was just a light brush, it still seared and sent a swift prick to his heart.

_But, they were right to be afraid. After everything that my kind has done, it's only natural to fear me. I bet if they actually knew me, they wouldn't hate me._

But no matter how many times those words passed through his mind, he couldn't help but feel the reassurance start to ebb away. He had to admit, in his past, he had taken part in some deeds that he wasn't quite proud of. After all, the fact that he'd beat slaves before would definately not appeal to them.

_That's different. It was either me or them. What could I have done about it?_

And there was that one incident involving Brink. Surely that betrayal was a show of his true colors.

_But cowardice isn't the same as evil and wickedness. Some are strong of heart, and others are weak. I'm weak of heart, I admit, but not evil. Not like the rest of the vermin of the world._

Clove? What about her? Over the years, he had stood by and watched Grack throw her around like a filthy rag doll. He had watched as she was beaten and starved, used as a display as the deranged vixen broke her bones and twisted her limbs out of their sockets, just to show him how to heal those.

_It was for the general good. How would I have learned any of the Healer Knowledge and the ways of the seer if I wasn't a part of Grack's plans? No doubt she would've refused me as her apprentice if I started ordering _her_ around. _

_And I have to admit, her methods were brutal, but oddly effective._

But what about the way Clove was treated lately? Is she really just a slave and nothing more?

_Slavery is all she knew of life, so she has no problems with it. Besides, I've seen and witnessed slavery first-hand, and my treatment towards her has been more than fair. In fact, I've been lenient enough that it's nothing compared to what she would face if I were a real vermin. I've never even raised my fist to her!__ She might fear and hate me, but what kind of slave actually _likes_ its master? _At that thought, he couldn't help but check a glance at the heavy metal shackle clasped over his left wrist. It had dulled and rusted slightly around the edges, but it still held as firm as it did on the first day he met Brink.

Would a real goodbeast allow himself to take a slave? Would Brink ever keep a slave prisoner to his whim? Even if he felt the lashes on his back and the beatings of stronger beasts, would he pass the pain on?

_Never. But still... I've been treating her nice enough. I've never actually beat her or starved her. I've never actually been cruel, have I...? No. No I haven't. So there. I've done nothing necessarily evil, nothing to make me anything like the vermin, and nothing that makes me deserving of similar treatment._

_But that doesn't matter, does it? Nobeast likes me or cares what I've been going through. Brink might've at one point, but that was before I betrayed him. I destroyed that friendship... or acquaintance- if that was all it really was to him. And as for the Redwallers, they never really wanted me to stay. They wanted me out of their precious abbey as soon as possible, and with good reason, since vermin are bad luck. After all, just look at what happened to Ma Krammel... and as for the voles the other day, they were just like the others._

_So why am I doing this again? To prove my worth, to prove that I can be a goodbeast. It would change _something_, wouldn't it?_

He looked up from his thoughts, his brows knitted together in concentration. He was right in front of the quarry now, the red stones against the green foliage, the colors like ruby against emerald. Swallowing dryly, he continued on his way, feeling the soft loamy path turn into hard, grainy rock. But they were warm rocks compared to the icy cold stones that he'd felt in the darkness of the caves.

And in this familiar place, the place where he'd crossed Death's path and stared it in the face, he couldn't help but feel all alone and wish that somebeast was there alongside him. Yet, he could almost feel it, that this forsaken place was void of life and that there was nothing for him here. After all, nobeast would wait for the likes of _him_.

He felt his shoulders sag with a certain invisible weight as he crept forward. The boulders here were just as lonely as he was, and the entire atmosphere was staring back at him accusingly, the cave mouths like empty eye sockets.

Even more disheartening was each step forward on his trek into the unknown. He felt his heart clench in anticipation. He couldn't help but half-hope that she was there, but for the sake of being right, he half-hoped she had abandoned him just like everybeast else. Without actually realizing it, he found himself quickening his pace as fast as his healing body could allow.

He hurried around the area, stopping when he reached a dead end. He felt his spirits sink as he stared at the emptiness of the place.

_Just as I predicted. She's not here. She must've bolted the second I fell. For all I know, she's wandering free and happy with some woodlanders by now, a much better life than to be stuck with me. She must be-_

"Keetch?"

The voice was so sudden and yet so tiny, the snow fox wasn't quite sure if he was hearing things or not. But still all the same, he slowly turned around, not seeing anything past the sun's glare at first. Squinting, he shielded his eyes as the image became clearer to him, his face a picture of disbelief as he recognized the skinny little figure.

_Clove... she's still here. _

He had no time to say anything before she charged at him at a startling pace, showing no intention of slowing down.

"KEEEEEEETCH!"

"Oof!"

He felt the impact of that colliding embrace, her arms clamping around his waist as she began squeezing the breath out of him. It wasn't that she was that strong, but it was rather the fact that his ribs were still damaged and she was crushing him with all her might. He groaned in pain as he felt the air get forced out of his lungs, his sides feeling as though they were going to cave in.

"Please don't go Keetch! Don't leave Clove all alone again!" she sobbed loudly as she buried her face in his cloak, "Clove will work harder. Clove's sorry, Clove will never disappoint Keetch. Don't go anymore." There was more to the pathetic little begging rant, but it sounded so muffled, he couldn't tell what she was saying. But he wasn't listening in the first place. Instead, he was trying in vain to pry her grip from him.

"Stop," he exhaled weakly, "It... hurts..."

Almost immediately, she released him, watching as her newfound master inhale deeply, moaning as she touched his sides tenderly.

"Keetch is hurt?" she asked meekly, returning back to the delicate slave he was used to.

"Yes," he hissed, turning to her, "I was gone for _days_. What d'ya think?"

Her ears lowered as she stared up at him, tears still falling freely. "Clove's sorry, Keetch... Where does it hurt?"

"Everywhere," he grunted as he felt himself recover from the pain. However, his head was throbbing now and his throat had a raw taste to it.

"Is Keetch," she paused, unsure of herself, "Is Keetch hungry?"

"Wha'?"

She flinched away from him as he looked at her. Timidly, she pointed towards a familiar-looking overhang draped in cooling shade. It took a moment for him to recognize it, but it really was the same place he sat on the day of that fateful fall. It hadn't changed at all, and yet it felt like seasons ago.

"There's food there," the little rabbit piped up, still pointing at the oblique structure of rock. That was all he needed to know. Without another word, Keetch left to the place, his stomach shriveled and eager for nourishment. And upon arriving at it, the sight that greeted him seemed so odd to him, so unexpected.

He simply imagined a collection of just a few roots and berries, but here there was a large pile of a variety of food just waiting for him. There was a colorful assortment of colored berries, soft mushrooms, rosy peaches, yellowed pears, and all sorts of food. Licking his lips, the fox felt his mouth water.

_Clack_

He ripped his gaze from the delicious food and looked at the source. It was just his slave, rummaging through a pile of rocks for some reason. She busied herself with the random task, arranging the rocks this way and that. It then occurred to Keetch that she was trying to form a comfortable seat out of the small boulders. _As if anybeast could make this place seem cozy!_

"Stop that," he ordered as he took his seat on the ground.

"Yes Keetch," she said quickly as she dropped a stone back to the ground. She sniffed loudly as she swiped her patchy sleeve over her face in an attempt to rid herself of the tear-stains on her cheeks. With that accomplished, she sat down on the stony cold ground, a nervous look in her eyes.

The place finally quiet, Keetch sat down and bit into a freshly-picked pear, relishing the savory _crunch_ and the sweet juice that trickled down his throat. In the middle of his "meal" he suddenly felt uncomfortable. Swallowing, he glanced sideways to see his slave staring at him.

"What are you looking at? Hungry?" She shook her head in response. Keetch only shrugged as he took another chunk from the fruit.

"So you've been collecting all this food the entire time?"

"Erm... yes Keetch. Clove's been foragin' a lot and-"

_Grrrrrrrrrrgggg..._

Instantly, the rabbit's posture stiffened as she realized how loud her stomach complained. She chanced a fleeting at her master, knowing full well that he had heard that noise. There was a moments pause, and then the seer spoke.

"I thought you said you weren't hungry."

"But- but Clove's been collecting food for Keetch and storing most of 'em just for Master. Clove just wanted to please Keetch..." she swallowed fearfully as she cowered, "Clove's sorry, Master. Clove was wrong to lie. Clove deserves to be punished." She stopped at that, anticipating a strike, or hopefully, a harsh scolding instead. However, Keetch didn't raise a fist, nor did he raise his voice. Instead, he just munched thoughtfully on his pear, already nearing the core. Seeing this, the little rabbit saw her chance to redeem herself.

"If Master wants, Clove will get more." She turned away, eager to avoid him.

"No. Stay." His voice sounded tired and resigned, far from the usual authoritative commands she was used to, yet she hesitantly did as she was told. She did, after all, live to serve and obey. Without a word or a glance his way, she sat down stiffly, staring at the ground while time passed by.

"Pick something from the pile," he spoke so suddenly, she jumped. "Eat whichever one you want the most." She froze, as if she didn't understand what he'd just said, her eyes shifting between her master and the pile of food. And then she realized that he'd just commanded her to do something; so with all haste, she scanned the pile. Hesitantly, she selected a single shriveled mushroom and nibbled at its edges.

"You were supposed to choose the one you wanted most," her master said nonchalantly as he picked up a couple berries and plopped them into his mouth, "It's a reward."

_"A reward?" _Clove repeated inwardly to herself. But if Keetch could read her confused expression, he didn't answer the questions running through her mind. Instead, he asked another question.

"Why did you do it?" he asked softly, averting his eyes, "Why are you here?"

"Because Keetch ordered Clove to... stay?" she replied, uncertain.

"No," the seer shook his head slightly, "I'm talking about when I was gone. You waited for me when I was gone. Why didn't you just go away?" At those words, Clove felt her heart turn icy and plummet.

"K-Keetch doesn't want Clove anymore?" she asked, her voice quivering as she fought her tears back, "But-"

"Just tell me why you didn't just run away," he interrupted, his voice hinting impatience.

"Uh..." she stopped at that, her mind drawing a blank.

"Anybeast would've left me for dead, but you didn't. Why?"

"Um..." she squirmed uncomfortably at the questions being thrown at her.

"Is it because you had nowhere else to go? Nobeast else to turn to?" he pushed, his voice growing cold and brittle.

She stayed silent, averting her gaze nervously as she tucked her head safely between her shoulders. They stopped there, their silence mingling with the air as Keetch continued his meal.

"Forget it," he finally muttered, "It doesn't matter."

And as for poor confused Clove, she only sat there, her eyes downcast as her paws timidly busied themselves as she squeezed them together. Finally, she managed to pluck up just enough courage to speak.

"... K-k-keetch," she said, her voice a willowy whisper, every syllable forced out shakily, "Clove was worried... Clove was really scared that Keetch wouldn't come back for Clove, or that Keetch got very hurt, or maybe... maybe something... _worser_." She bit her lip at the end, her expressive ears pointing to the ground. And as for Keetch, he stared at her for a moment, as if assessing whatever it was that she just said.

"... Really?" he breathed, his eyes wide in surprise. Clove only gave him a shy, fleeting glance, but that was enough. It lifted his spirits all the same, the ache from his heart slowly dissolving to a light, glowing sensation.

"But _why_? You could've run off to join some woodlander family and been happy," he paused, remembering his stinging encounter with the family of voles, "You wouldn't have to be forced to do whatever I said. You'd be _free_."

He watched as his slave cocked her head sideways in confusion as she rubbed her neck.

"But Clove's always been happy with Keetch," she brushed the faint scar where her collar used to be, "Clove stayed because Keetch is really good to Clove... Keetch, what's 'family'?" The seer hesitated for a heartbeat, but chose to ignore the subject.

"It doesn't matter," he said briskly, "Just hurry up an' eat your fill so we can pack this stuff and leave."

"Yes Keetch," she said, obediently getting on her knees and choosing the humbler choice of vittles. The rest of the moments dragged on in silence, both of them minding their own business as they ate. However, Keetch's head was abuzz with more than just thoughts of food.

_She stayed for me? I still don't understand why, though. Does she even like me? But since when? I haven't done much of anything to make her like me... she's probably lying to me, isn't she? After all, she's so clueless, she would never survive out there for very long; she was probably doing the smart thing just waiting for me. But still, she waited for me anyways. Does she really _care_ about me? About whether a vermin lives or dies? Does she actually like me? Is she like Brink, who used to see the good inside me?_

He glimpsed sideways to look at her. For once, she didn't seem so miserable. Instead, she was leaping and running around the quarry, chasing an elusive white butterfly with glee. Some time ago, he would've seen her to be useless and stupid. But now... _now_ she just seemed so vulnerable and innocent- a child. Quickly, he brushed the cloying idea aside as he opened his medicine case, noticing how the contents cluttered noisily.

The stony pair of fangs were still there, fully intact. He picked them up gingerly, as if their original owner were still fully capable of wounding him. Slowly, cautiously, he lifted the main compartment of the wooden case a crack, slipping the fangs into the hidden storage compartment. The less the Redwallers knew about him, the better, after all.

Suddenly, as he retracted his paw, he felt his fingers brush against something. Raising a brow, he carefully lifted the main compartment off, exposing the false bottom. And there, sitting patiently, was the quaint darkwood box of bones. He had almost forgotten of its existence, but here it was again, a solid reminder of his trials.

Warily, he undid the simple latch and lifted the lid, inspecting the gleaming bones nestled in their keep. For all he could tell, they were undamaged, their symbols clear in the blazing afternoon sun.

_clop_

He shut the lid. It didn't matter, since the moon wasn't the right shape right now. Anyways, he had to move on. They'd spent too much time lingering in this empty, lonley place.

"Clove," he called, "Come and pack the food. We're going."

"Yes Keetch," she smiled breathlessly, a spring in every step as she approached him. _I still don't see what she's so happy about._

Quickly, she stored the food into the medicine case, careful not to squish the delicate peaches or crush the brittle nuts.

"All done," she announced once her task was complete. Eagerly, she held it up to her master, grunting and wobbling in the process, the burden blocking her vision. She teetered this way and that, her body swinging at precarious angles, threatening to throw her off her balance.

"Stop it before you hurt yourself," she heard her master's annoyed voice as the snow fox snatched the case way from her, the weight lifting off from her arms.

"Sorry Keetch," she lowered her ears in dismay.

Suddenly, before she could even comprehend what was happening, her master's paw reached down to her head, his palm pressing right between the ears. She startled at the touch, squeezing her eyes shut as she anticipated a slap of pain.

"It doesn't hurt," came her master's voice as he ruffled her headfur lightly.

"Come on." With that, he lifted his paw from her head and trudged away, the little rabbit staring after him with a bewildered look on her face. Almost in a dazed fashion, she touched the spot where his palm was, feeling the soft fur on her head.

"I'm _waiting._"

And in a heartbeat, she was beside him again, looking up at him with a shy, uncertain smile. In return, Keetch gave her a curt nod before he continued on his long trek, master and slave, side by side.

* * *

**It has occurred to me that Keetch almost seems to love self-pity and self-loathing. That makes him masochistic in my book. :/ I kind of enjoyed the whole process of justifying his actions too, just to show that he really does have good intentions behind those dark actions of his. Just goes to show you that you really shouldn't lose sight of your morals no matter what (but there are always exceptions). Hey, I'm not saying I approve of his methods. His main problem, I think, is that he's desparate for acceptance, so he tries to be a goodbeast. However, he tends to compare himself to villains rather than goodbeasts.**

**And guess what guys, Clove is back due to popular demand! YES! I just thought that everything was just so sweet in this chapter. She clearly loves him, and he's just beginning to realize that. :3**

**As for the medicine case, if anyone of you guys is wondering, it had a secret compartment in it. Thanks to Nancy Drew books, I'm able to envision it, so I guess I should explain it to you guys. Sometimes, trunks or cases have false bottoms on it, where there's a secret compartment underneath the top. So to be simple, imagine a make-up box that has multiple layers. You can lift off the layers one by one, and there is just one last one that's trickier to pull out. Not everybody knows it's there because it's concealed and it's deep enough to be the last, but there's stuff under there. I hope that helps... kinda. Or maybe I'm just confusing you guys more?**

**CONTEST INFO**

**This is a prize that anyone could win. Notice the weird chapter title, "Sweet Sorrow is the Gold of Tomorrow"? That was a misinterpretation of the lyrics "Standing Still" by Jewel (I love that song). Anyways, I thought that the line was a perfect title to this chapter and it's really poetic, in a way.**

**So your challenge is to tell me the meaning behind the phrase and how it relates to what happened in this chapter. I would prefer it if you send a Private Message to me, since people can cheat off a review. The reward goes to every person that gets the answer right. The contest ends by Wednesday, the 14th.**

**Anyways, the prize is that you can get another chapter 3 days before I post it. It's not the next chapter, but it's coming really soon and it's a REALLY important one. Plus, the chapter preceding that has a cliff-hanger, so you'll be glad to know that you'll get to read what happens before all the regular people. In order to do that, please keep in mind to leave your email so I can contact you (only if you're anonymous). For non-anomymous reviewers, please keep in mind that I'll send you a message if you got it right and I'll send it to you through DocX when I'm ready to send it. If you're confused about how this works, just ask me.**

**So guys, please review and all that good stuff because I really like hearing your opinions and I seriously do listen to your advice and suggestions. Any constructive criticism, questions, comments, etc. are all welcome. I don't care if you're harsh, just be brutally honest. :)**


	38. The Shadows Keep Their Secrets

**And now for another chapter. This is a pretty long chapter, since I skipped out last week. Heh, exams. :) Anyways, special thanks to all who reviewed since I last updated: Jarrtail, Sanfrasm, Zinachu, Fwirl of Redwall, Awsomewriter123, Cinnamonpool, Lightwatcher, MangaHottie740, Moomoogirl1, Foeseeker, Martin the Warrior, SilverZeo, Persarr, Kylyn, and Red Squirrel Writer. I'm so glad everyone liked the last chapter. **

**Q and A**

**Sanfrasm: Yes, the fangs are what Martin prophecized about. Don't worry, you'll see them come to immense use eventually.**

**Red Squirrel Writer: You ask a lot of good questions. :) Well, I won't really cover the _whole_background story between Rosco and Brook, since it's nothing particularly interesting. They were just childhood friends. And Keetch will care for Clove, but she won't be the only thing he wants to protect. And as for your questions about Jolin and Brink, you'll just have to wait until next week's chapter. :)**

**Roflmonkeypoop: Thanks for the heads-up. I've changed it so it's not so... spoilerish? Thanks. :)**

**Contest Info**

**"Sweet Sorrow is the Gold of Tomorrow" is a quote that states that if you could just get past the hurts of today and put it behind you, you'll find yourself happier than ever. Take it this way, Keetch was in self-denial, thinking that nobody likes him and nobody ever would. But then he found out that he was wrong all along, since Clove loves him more than anything. I can imagine he was pretty touched by this sudden realization, and I guess he would feel a lot more light-hearted, more happy than sad. That was a really crappy explanation and I apologize.**

**And as for the contest winners, they're Fwirl of Redwall, Awsomewriter123, and Zinachu. Did I miss anyone? Please tell me if you sent it to me and I told you that you had it right. For you winners, I'll send you a DocX invitation when I'm almost done with the mystery chapter. I'm having it set to be publicly released on February 22, the anniversary of this story. :) Wow, one year. Can you believe it?**

**_NOTE_: This is going to be an important chapter full of hints to character development and plot, so read VERY carefully. New characters are in here too. Hm, and there's quite a bit of foreshadowing in this chapter.**

* * *

**The Shadows Keep their Secrets**

* * *

_THUNK!_

The golden hilt of a blade was half-embedded in the wall, wobbling up and down before it steadied itself, surrounded by a handful of other blades, each one circling the bright red target on the board.

Ragnar slouched over his throne, reaching his arm to a crystal platter of glistening knives, each one uniquely decorated with the finest of jewelry. Without looking, his paw selected another knife, gripping the handle between his thumb and forefinger delicately. The smooth gem-stones on the hilt felt cool to the touch and the silver steel was as clean as the numerous mirrors that adorned the room. He looked at his reflection, eyeing the handsomely bejeweled figure on the cold metal before he flicked the blade into the air, catching it in his paw expertly.

His appearance in check, he turned his attention to his target and looked straight forward, his shoulders relaxed as he narrowed his eyes, his paw shifting forwards and back. Then, at just a swift motion and deadly flick of the wrist, there was a wild blur zipping through the air before another thick _THUNK! _resounded in the quiet atmosphere, leaving the sharp edge of the blade buried in the bulls-eye.

Sighing contentedly, the weasel king leaned back to glance at his spotless mirrors. Except for his reflections, he was all alone to his peace and quiet.

_No more of that stupid Thanatos yelling orders like I would listen. Ragnar do this. Ragnar do that. Ragnar tell the Basilisk this this and that that... I have the right replacement for him in mind, but it would just be a huge mess to clean up if I go through with any plans _now_..._

His stomach suddenly gave a painful twinge, making the Demon King gasp in pain and surprise. _Not again... oooh..._He felt some hot, thick, sticky liquid force its way upwards and lodge into his throat. Closing one eye with distate, he held his breath and swallowed the raw bile down, tasting the vile, poison-like taste on his tongue. _Happens more and more frequently, that. Damn..._

He smacked his lips experimentally, tasting the rotten taste in his mouth. _Curses curses curses!_

Out of the corner of his eye, there was a sudden flicker of black flitting through the darkness.

Instinctively, he sat up on his chair, but eased back in his seat when he remembered who it was. _Thanatos, you have your wolf Fenris. And me, I have my own creatures too besides the Basilisk._

"Ah, perfect timing," he remarked, ignoring the toxic taste in his mouth and regaining his composure as he fingered a knife leisurely.

The figure slithered from the shadows in the corner and out in front of him. The heavy dark cloak it wore was trailing on the ground, seeming like shady tendrils that swirled around its master while the hood sagged over the creature's head.

"My king, you summoned me?" the figure asked in a feminine voice, pulling the hood back to reveal the brown fur and pointed snout of a snow fox.

"I have another job for you," he smiled innocently, "And this time it isn't spying on my brother's actions. What do you think about exploring outside the castle, Miska? Do you think you can do that?" He drank in the silence as the snow vixen thought the idea over.

"My lord," she finally replied, "I can accomplish this, though it cannot be easily done. There's no shelter out in the plains, so it's risky."

Ragnar just shrugged and waved the caution aside. _It's a chance I'm willing to take. _"Good. There are certain beasts I want you to spy on for me," he smirked at the thought of his nemesis.

"Reaverclaw?"

"You know me well," he smirked.

"If my lord commands," she said with a sweeping bow as she merged with the shadows once more.

Ragnar sat in silence, waiting until he felt her presence leave. Except for the fact that she was the Demon King's eyes and ears, nobeast could be entirely sure about Miska. She was a shadow within the night, a breath in the silence. Everything seemed to be getting in place now. He could work his way through this. He knew he could. He leaned back in his throne and took a sip of the light, rich wine next to him, an easy smile hovering on his lips.

But if he thought that his body was done betraying him, he was dead wrong.

His stomach gurgled again, sending a spasm of pain shooting from his belly that spread everywhere, making him grip the arms of the royal throne as he endured the onslaught. It didn't take long for the pain to quiet itself, but the deed was done and Ragnar found sweat collecting on his forehead as he panted.

_To hell with this. To hell with it all._ He slammed a fist against his arm rest as his mind streamed with curses.

He cursed Sigma the Soothsayer. _Ugly crone. _The deceased once-soothsayer, Frigg. _Accursed sorceress. _And last but surely not least, his mother. _Vile witch. Demented old hag. It's your fault I'm going to die. You deliberately did this to me! Your fault. I should've given you a worse death. Your fault! _He coughed at that thought, slaver dribbling from the corners of his mouth. Without thinking, he rubbed his silken sleeve against his face, only to realize that he'd just dirtied the precious blue fabric. He snorted his contempt as he leaned back against his royal throne, no good mood left in him.

Heaving an exasperated sigh, Ragnar twisted a knife around in his paw, the tip of one finger resting on the point as he thought to himself. Things would change now, he knew that.

_It looks like my plans for my dear brother's death will have to wait, just for another week or so. This war can't last too long. Once that Hell Cat and her army are brought down on their knees, I'll just continue with everything I've had planned. I won't fall before him. Never._

* * *

Reun leaned back on her rocking chair, cradling the precious bundle in her arms while she her daughter sat curled up on her lap, sucking her thumb as she slept peacefully. Thade, on the other paw, was beginning to stir uncomfortably, struggling with the blanket that kept him warm. She grimaced as she fumbled around, trying to find a better position to hold him.

Her movements were clumsy and numb, her arms tired and exhausted from carrying the infant around whenever he wailed. She didn't know why she even bothered, since doing so only seemed to encourage him. And to make matters worse, he was beginning to make that choked scream he always did whenever he was disturbed. Frustrated and slightly panicked, she moved him around some more, trying to appease him and his appetite for constant and unfailing attention.

"Oh be quiet you," she hissed under her breath as his noise rang louder. "I've just fed you, you're clean, and you were supposed to be asleep." _He's even worse than Reis._

At that thought, her daughter stirred in her sleep, a small squeak escaping her lips as her brows furrowed in agitation. Her eyes wouldn't stay closed forever, though, since Thade was about to break the silence that poor Reun had fought so hard to maintain.

His patience finally through, the young princeling set up a shrieking squal, tears squeezing out of the corners of his eyes. Immediately, his sister Reis was awake as well, and before Reun knew it, her two little ones were crying in her arms.

_I've had enough of this._

"Guards!" she shouted. Immediately, the door was open and a weasel poked his face in, wincing at the volume of the babes.

"Get the wet nurse," she commanded over the ear-shattering noise.

"Right away, m'lady," he replied hurriedly as he shut the door. Scowling, she curled her arm around Reis's tiny body, lifting her daughter off her lap and depositing her on the floor clumsily. The little weasel did nothing to resist her mother. Instead, she sat on the carpeted ground and continued screaming her lungs out.

With her lap now free, the mother stood up slowly, welcoming the feeling back to her legs. _With my head pulsing like this, I'm beginning to think my head has its own heartbeat._ _Ugh, it's like they're competing at who can shriek the loudest and the longest! Just where is that mush-brained nurse?_

As if an answer to her thoughts, the door cracked open and a female ferret appeared, waiting patiently for her orders.

"It's about time," she huffed as she cradled her still-unsatisfied son in her arms, "Take Princess Reis to their bedroom." At the command, the nurse obediently did as she was bid and scooped the crying toddler in her arms and carried her out the door, Reun and her bodyguards following closely behind her.

If there was anything that her children had inherited from their father, it was definately their stubborness- and probably his volume of voice. Sometimes they could cry for hours and hours and hours in the middle of the night, their screams never whittling away to something just a tad bit softer. From time to time, Reun would begin to panic, wondering if their ruckus would disturb King Ragnar from his dreams and remind him to pay her family a visit.

_To hell with him._

But it was her fear, that she would have to encounter him again without Thanatos by her side. It seemed like her husband was one of the only beasts in the world that could keep Ragnar's malice at some distance. She supposed that there were just a couple others that would make him think twice before offending them, but very few of would ever dare say a word in her defense.

Sometimes she wished that Thanatos would've just gotten her a reliable body guard rather than the pathetic group of nitwits that always followed after her. But then again, she would've been stuck with Fenris watching her. She shuddered at the thought, reminding herself of the the cruel, cold memories that she harbored for the grey wolf.

_Things've changed_, she reminded herself. _You can't fear him now. Unlike last time, he can't hurt you or kill you or anything. Thanatos would never allow it._

And then she felt anger flush up within herself. _Why do I depend on him? I took care of myself just fine before I came face to face with him. I even handled my position as lieutenant perfectly before I had his son. And now what? He has his idiot guards herd me off to the nursery every time I so much as pick up a butter knife! _Fuming, she unintentionally squeezed little Thade too tight against her, making his screeching rise- something she thought would've been impossible.

Quickly she loosened her grip, cradling him softly in a silent apology. By then, they had reached her childrens' bed chambers and the door was pushed open for her. As she and the ferret nurse walked inside, the soldiers took their positions by the door, still cringing at the ear-shattering wails.

The room was dark when she entered, but the light stretching in from the doorway guided her to the Thade's little cradle. Whispering and shushing at the same time, she laid him between the soft linens and pelts. Miraculously, the infant's cries quieted and his breathing began to slow to something more peaceful as she rocked the cradle gently. Satisfied, she looked over to the wet nurse, who had laid the screaming Reis down on her crib.

"You may leave," Reun said curtly. In the bat of an eye, the ferret had bowed and scuttled out the door. Without a word, Reun lit a lamp and shut the door, alone again to her thoughts and her children. Thade had calmed now, but Reis was still proving difficult, causing an uproar as she stood leaning against her crib's bars.

"_MaaaaAaaaaAaaa-Aaa!_" she screamed as she reached for her between the bars, the tiny paw clenching and unclenching itself with longing.

Groaning wearily, she picked the toddler up and sat her on her lap. Surprisingly, the child almost instantly quieted as she leaned lazily against her mother, letting her confounded noise taper off into a mild whimper. Finally at peace, Reun allowed herself to relax as she smoothed the fur on her daughter's forehead, smiling as Reis snuggled closer.

_Hmm. Sometimes being a mother isn't so bad. _It was quite a lonely job, though, caring for the children like this. Her husband had showed little to no interest in his heirs, only questioning her about Thade's health. It didn't quite matter to her though. She never quite expected much from the solemn weasel in the first place.

She remembered how he'd first held their daughter. Reis was so little, just barely a week old and Reun urged him to hold her, if only for just a moment. He was in a perfectly good mood that day and after much careful prodding, he finally consented to the request. Unfortunately, the moment the weaselbabe was nestled safely between his chest and arms, she started squalling, making him grimace with disgust.

_"It's the armor you're wearing, my lord," _she had said when he placed her back into her mother's arms, watching the infant reduce her cries the instant she was out of his grasp. _"She just finds the metal cold,"_she finished weakly. Of course, Thanatos only grunted and walked out of the door. That was the only interaction he'd ever had with any of his children.

Perhaps it was because Reis was a daughter when he wanted a son? But no, if that were the case, he'd be willing to take Thade in his arms and father him. Or perhaps it was fragile little children constantly cry? It would certainly wear down his already-thin patience. _That's probably it. _He's just waiting for his son to grow up, so he can mentor him in the ways of the sword, teach him about armies and tactics, show him the power of discipline, make him a great warlord like himself. Instantly, she felt her heart raise just a bit at the thought. _Yes, yes. That might be it. Maybe._

And maybe, if she really wanted a bit of her old authority back, she should put her trust in the subjects worth trusting- if only they existed. She dared not give anybeast with her children for too long- even the wet nurse. There were just too many risks, and Thanatos had warned her of Ragnar's cunning and ill-will (actually, she didn't even need any warnings about _that_). And with her husband out doing his duties, the children were suddenly _her_ sole responsibility. _I don't see why I'm landed with this job. I need something more. I want to go out there and fight and be a part of the war meetings like I used to. But Reis and Thade... they need me._

Letting her mind wander, she wondered what her life would be like if she'd never met the Ice General in the first place. What if she'd just simply done her job as a guard and kept her nose to herself? She had to admit, there were plenty of positives that came with being married into the royal family- plenty of food, luxuries, servants, slaves, power. But then there were the downsides, things that took away her freedom.

For one thing, she was stuck with the tiring job of tending their children. Another thing is that from the moment she'd been by his side, she'd become a walking target to the malicious Demon King. And last but not least, she had to do what was expected of her. Of course, she'd always taken commands throughout her entire life, but it was different if she was married to the prince. When she was a servant, it was more like it was part of the job to listen to the superiors, but as a wife, it was as though she was his property, a closely-watched valuable. Plus, although they'd been together for years now, he did make her nervous from time to time.

_But no, he's not that bad._And it was true. Except for the very first time they spoke, he had never once struck her, and he had always been more of a gentlebeast than she had ever expected. She _definately_could've done worse. After all, she'd seen plenty of other females being slapped around by their mates and treated no better than slaves themselves, doing nothing but provide sons and break their backs over chores while the males got drunk.

_Yes, _she remembered thinking to herself when she had accepted his wedding gift, the beautiful sword he'd had specially made for her. _He'd never hurt me. Never abuse me- not even if I rejected this gift. He'd already promised me that and his word has always been good._ But sometimes, she just didn't know if the change was really worth it.

Laying back, she couldn't help but think back to that time four years ago, back to where it all started. She was so young back then, eager and ambitious, all risks meaning nothing to her. But that was back then, back where she had been part of the wild and daring plot to assassinate the crowned prince.

---

_The shadows flitted in its fickle dance, sending dark looming shapes up against the wall in a mocking imitation of the figure gliding through the halls. There was barely a sound coming from her footpaws, but still all the same, Reun couldn't help but feel as if somebeast was following her. She turned a corner sharply, flinging her back against the wall while she stayed and waited for movement or sound, watching for shadows on the adjacent wall while she took careful, quiet breaths._

_It was hard, stifling her panting to something noiseless, forcing her starved lungs to pace themselves, but she managed. And finally, when the efforts ceased being laborious, she peeked over the wall. There was nothing there. But still, she wasn't yet feeling easy about the situation. Perhaps she should've considered the risks more carefully? _

_But that thought lasted no longer than a bat of an eye before she shook it out of her head. There was no going back now. She was either in the plan or she was out, and if she was out... well, she doubted the rest of her fellow conspirators were going to just show her the door, minding their politeness. It was already too late now, so she might as well attempt it and hope for the best._

_Nervously, she crept around the empty halls, the crackling of torches the only sound. The quiet should've calmed her, yet the emptiness made her more suspicious, as if a trap had been set up. But still, she pushed herself forward. More than once, she thought about reporting the entire plot to the royal family. Surely they would listen to her and reward her then. After all, who's to say that none of the other conspiring vermin was a snitch and would beat her to the prize? _You might as well be the spy instead of be spied upon.

_Then another thought stuck to her mind. If she reported all of this treasonous activity to the officers and guards, what would she say if they questioned her about her knowledge? Then they'd know that she'd been conversing and plotting of assassination all along. No. That wouldn't work. The royal family had never been lenient toward any crime, after all._

_But before long, she found her paw straying to knock on one of the thick wooden doors in the abandoned hallway. They had chosen this spot of all places, the old storage chambers. Unless somebeast was drunk or in dire need of crumbly cheese, it was unlikely that anybeast was going to come snooping around here._

_Her paw still hovered over the surface, her knuckles just gracing the grainy wood as her entire arm trembled. She bit her lip apprehensively, staring at the blank door dumbly. She inhaled deep, letting her lungs swell before she rapped on the rough surface._

Knock-knock

_There wasn't a sound and she'd begun to worry that she'd come to the wrong place after all when suddenly the door _whooshed_ open and she was yanked inside before the door shut just after her tail. Her eyes slowly got accustomed to the faint lighting there, the shapes and empty faces becoming something clear. _

_"About time," they muttered gruffly, all of them males. Swallowing nervously, she took her seat, pretending not to be worried in the least bit. The last thing anybeast would want to do would be to show fear, show weakness._

_"So you're the plucky little weasel that guards Queen Narsca, eh?" She couldn't tell who was asking her, but she could already tell from the voice that the owner had little to no patience._

_"That's right," she said with false authority, praying she sounded much more important than she felt. Hopefully, she really was important. Except for her son Ragnar, Queen Narsca trusted no males and would only accept females into her royal guard. Remembering that only made Reun more confident. _They need me. None of them know about the queen's agendas half as well as I do. I'm useful to them.

_They were being quiet. Too quiet. She swallowed nervously, her eyes picking through the solemn faces in the room, hoping to find one familiar one out of the seven total. _Wait. Seven? Those aren't very good odds against the guards.

_Finally, her sight locked on to a rat leaning against the wall. Scraptail, the one that had got her into this mess. They never actually knew each other well. They'd never had the pleasure of battling their differences out or swapping insults, but they were of a mutual alliance now. And still, there was something about the rat she didn't like; but then again, she rarely ever liked anybeast._

_"I haven't heard... ahem," she cleared her throat, "I haven't heard much about each of what goes on here. What are our motives?"_

_"To gut the royal family," one of them snorted._

_"Yah, they don' treat anybeast right... especially that Demon Prince."_

_"Basilisk or not, they 'ave ta go. They're getting outta control."_

_"And we'll take over!"_

_"Ye see what they did to m'paw?" A scraggly ferret raised his stump of an arm in the air, the bloodied bandages tinged with yellowy puss. Of course, he had gotten off lucky. _

_But even with these reasons, Reun had to restrain herself from rolling her eyes at them. _Nit-wits. Kill them and then what? You take the crown? Then who's going to stop the rest o' Greymorg from lopping your heads off?

_She scanned the faces once again, noticing how they were now discussing their hatred for the royal weasels amongst themselves. Most of the time, they were squabbling over who had the worst beatings, most humiliations, more rights to vengeance, boring talk. Scraptail, on the other hand, showed no desire to be a part of this and only shot her a secretive wink. She looked away fiercely, furious that he would chance their safety by that. Anybeast could've noticed that!_

_However, everybeast was so indulged in their conversations, it most likely went by unnoticed. She remembered what Scraptail said to her when he whispered the plan in her ear. He needed somebeast close to Queen Narsca on his side, so he could have the right idea of where and how to attack. That, and he'd thought of her as one of the more intelligent and daring type of beasts than the idiots of the fort- at least, that's what he'd said when he invited her into this half-crazed plot._

_---_

_"You and me, we're smart," he told her in a hushed tone, "I'm surrounded by idiots. They're strong alright, some of 'em used to be higher-ranked in their prime, but there's nothing useful in their heads. If we 'ave your brains in this as well, then we can go along with the plan. Y'don't seem to care much for the queen anyways, so I'm sure you'd like some revenge for anythin' she's done to you in the past."_

_She remembered striding away, pretending she hadn't heard any of these treasonous whispers. _

_"Get away from me, rat," she had snarled, "Get some other fool to do this suicide mission. Not me."_

_But that damn rat was so persistent, following her as he uttered persuading words sprinkled with praise and riches. "But you're not one of the meek little beasts that tend to the queen and stand her barbed tongue and her even sharper beatings. You're not one to accept these humiliations easily- I could see the defiance in your eyes th' moment I first saw you." She sent him a furious, withering scowl at him right there and then, but the scheming rat only grinned his ugly black-edged teeth back at her._

_"Yes. That's the look alright! Imagine it. You can get whatever in the castle you want. You might even be queen!"_

_It was when he had said those words that Reun realized what she didn't like about him. He was one of the smarter, more cunning of the vermin, the type that plots and plans, nursing bitter memories. Of course, she had more than a couple complaints about the commanding queen and she had been tempted to wallop her on more than one occasion. But perhaps, the thing that intrigued her the most was the thought of power instead of jewels and gold, so she agreed on that same day. _

_But it all seemed to be folly now._

_---_

_Not one to be trusting, Reun made sure she seemed dull and slow as a snail, but fiery and impulsive at the same time, drinking in Scraptail's words and expectations of the future. It shocked her a bit when he leaned close and whispered something in her ear._

_"Just between you and me," he began, "You're smart, unlike the others. Once we've sliced the royal family and gotten them out of the way, we can deal with those dunderheads later, jus' you'n'me." _

_For all she knew, he probably said that to everybeast that listened to his plot._

Well you've got another thing coming, Scraptail. You may have some lousy followers backing your tail, but I'm coming up with my own plan altogether. Just you wait until we get this plan started. If there's going to be any double-crossing, I won't be the victim. I'll be the culprit.

* * *

Meanwhile, down by the western coasts of the land, the corsairs were sitting by their fires, singing drunken songs and swapping raucous jokes, laughing uproariously amongst each other. In fact, it seemed almost as if they'd forgotten that they were even at war. Even the numerous slaves plundered in their wild and violent excursions were given a little slack (in a way).

All of them were herded out of their slaveholds, still dragging the chains along with them while they staggered out into the thin, crinkly area of sparse grass. They sighed with relief at finally breathing fresh air and seeing more of the world other than the moldy wood and oars in front of them, finally able to stretch out their limbs and sleep under the stars. But of course, they were out here for a reason, not to dilly-dally all night long.

"Go and bury the dead, worms!" was the command that was barked at them as spades were dumped on the sand. Grumbling, the poor wretched creatures picked them up and began their gruelling task.

Some of the slaves, however, came to be more fortuitous in the end. This special group had their own individual set of shackles, each one charged with running errands and serving food and drink to their masters. "Serving slaves", they were called. They were still slaves, yet it was quite a lofty position compared to callousing one's paws over an oar.

And sometimes, for the captains and those in high command, there were private slaves. Those slaves were either fortunate or doomed, depending on the masters that selected them. Some were harsh task masters, and others were oftentimes too drunk or forgetful to carry out punishments frequently. Either way, the life of a slave was cruel, just as the life of a soldier or a sailor is fickle and ruled by chance.

And somewhere in the center of the horde's masses, a single squirrel was kneeling to give its master a flagon of grog. And this slave was not just a serving slave either, but an unfortunate slave owned by a captain- but not just any captain. It was the second-in-command of the horde, a large muscular rat by the name of Bodan. He was in a rare good mood today, seated by a roaring fire, sipping some wine from a flagon, carelessly tossing the empty containers behind him as he finished them. From the way he was stretched out leisurely on the sand, his head propped up on a log that should've been seated by at least four beasts, one could say that he looked rather kingly amongst his companions.

"Your drink, captain." A hedgehog said in a humble voice, delivering another bottle of grog. The searat accepted it eagerly, laughing along with the other beasts surrounding the fire.

"Whoa- oof!"

He turned his head at the sound, suddenly seeing the lynx in place of his slave, who was lying stunned on the ground. Noticing the rare serious look on her face, he stood up on his paws and dusted the sand off.

"Yes Captain?"

"Where's Slyte?" she asked sharply, as if he was expected to know everything that went on.

"Huh?" he asked, the merriment from his face completely gone.

"I was going to send him off but I can't find that stupid dung-head anywhere," she scowled, looking over the heads of the sea of vermin.

"Haven't seen 'im," he shrugged, taking another swig of seaweed grog.

"But I've got a mission for him! Can't he act his own age? He's been this way since Day One and I'd like to straighten him out and strangle him with that tail of his.... grrrrr..." she ranted, her expressions animated, "And I'll skin him alive, make his fur into a rug, and _beat_ all that dirt out of it! _Oooooh!"_ She clenched her fists tight and together, as if there really was a neck between both palms.

Bodan merely shrugged and continued downing the foul drink, nodding and pretending he was listening to the empty threats and curses that streamed out of the wildcat's mouth.

"Argh! He's never around when I _need_ him," she seethed, gritting her fangs as she finally stalked away, her tail swishing and snapping behind her like an enraged serpent.

"He'd better not be where I think he is!" she shouted to nobeast in particular.

_She should watch herself,_ he thought as he wiped his mouth with the back of his paw. _A thousand things could go wrong in the middle of the war. Lots of beasts get hurt, and it might not be so unbelievable if something were to happen to a fearless leader in the heat of battle._He let his mouth split into a yellowed, secret smile as he lifted another bottle to his mouth, letting the bitter taste wash through him.

* * *

And unfortunately for Nyara, her assumptions were correct.

Elsewhere, in the shadowy crypt-like wine cellar of Fort Greymorg, cobwebs decorated the well-stocked slender bottles and dust reigned supreme on the shelves. At the moment, all seemed quiet and void of life except for the soft _clinking_ of glasses.

In the seldom-seen corner of the room, a dark-clad wiry figure had uncorked a bottle and took a healthy swig of its contents, smacking his lips as he ranked the taste. So careless and unconcerned he seemed, that one never would've thought he was an intruder.

_Hm. Vintage wine. Who'd ever think that the heartless, souless weasels would have this kinda stuff? Well, I can't leave this kind of thing sitting out here all in its lonesome._ Grinning, the young pine marten undid the knot in his burlap bag and unceremoniously stuffed the drinks inside, filling it up completely. But it wasn't very big in the first place; any bigger and he'd have difficulty climbing with that thing strapped to his back. At most, he could only fit five bottles in there.

Carefully, he tied the bag to a close and crept around, eagerly seeking greater treasures. Keeping a leisurely pace as he scanned the rest of the shelve's contents with interest. But at last, he'd reached the end of the dreary hall and zipped through the entrance, keeping to the shadows.

He wasn't surprised to see the halls as empty and cold as the cellar. However, he knew that he was nowhere near the Royal Castle. Now _that_place would be crowded. This was just some smaller building on the other side of the more crowded places and he had yet to explore this place. When he'd first clapped his eyes on Greymorg, he was astounded by the sheer size and height. It should've intimidated some other beasts, but not him. No. This place was his new playground. Just looking at the towering walls made him curious for what was behind the grey stone bricks, excited for the potential fun that awaited him in the future.

It wasn't all that hard to enter, he supposed. All he had to do was slink around and get to the wall and climb. That was the hardest part, climbing up and up and up. He'd been trained to be able to scale mountainsides and castles, but this was the greatest challenge by far. He couldn't rest by some windowsill either, since the wall was completely blank and grey. The sentries weren't too hard to avoid, though, since they seemed lazy and shiftless, letting the shadows be shadows and the darkness simply stay as darkness. _Huh. Then the're not so different from the corsairs after all._

But when he was finally at the top, he looked out at the scene before him, anticipating someplace amazing. And there, he saw a cluster of castles scattered around the grounds, the center one towering higher than the others. _That must be the Royal Palace, then. _And covering the an ample portion of land, large squares loamy grounds and farmlands covered the place like patchwork. The place was huge, solid, strong, and somewhat simplistic. _What a dump._

_So this is our biggest win? This place?_ He groaned inwardly, ducking down into the darker recesses of the fort. _She's been obsessing about this place for seasons, and this is the place? It's more like she's been out for revenge rather than any actual loot. This place is big, but not special._ It seemed to him that the entire fort was sleeping, underestimating the power behind the corsairs. _Big mistake. Walls are just inconveniences, nothing more._ And there was no better time to seek out their plans and secrets other than now.

Minding his vulnerability out in the open, he slunk down to one of the lesser castles, keeping in mind to stay hidden but notice every single little detail. It was strange, the way these beasts lived in their snug little dormatories, sometimes living with their own family. This whole time, Slyte always thought that they lived in barracks instead, or maybe camped out in simple tents. But this? It seemed as everything was actually well-planned here in Greymorg. But he decided not to stay in the living quarters for long and strayed off to the storage rooms. Upon entering the place, it occurred to him that it might not be quite as well-stocked to last a season-long seige. But then suddenly, the pine marten recalled that a large amount of farmland available for harvesting.

_I guess those ugly farms have their uses in this war. How long would they last a seige, I wonder... Wish I could explore this place a little more..._

Though, of course, Slyte knew that he only had a limited amount of time before he had to return to the coasts and listen to Nyara rant about his constant absence. He would've snorted, but for the sake of secrecy, he stifled it and continued moving alongside the darkness.

Traveling down the halls was not as tricky as he would've anticipated. _How disappointing._ It was virtually empty, the few guards listless and asleep when he approached them. There was almost no need for caution here, so he abandoned the habit of creeping within the shadows and creeping stealthily along the corners, taking on a confident and casual stride instead. _If I've come for some fun, then I've either come to the wrong place or arrived at the wrong time. I'm sure there's got to be more in the daytime. Too bad I don't have that long, though._

"And I tol' ye..." the voice was subtle, almost like a whisper, but the marten's ears never failed him.

Quickly, he scurried up the wall and before long, he was in a well-hidden position. It only took him a matter of seconds before he was on the wooden beams that supported the ceiling. It was a tight squeeze, but he managed, waiting and listening for any information that would prove interesting.

"Shouldn'ta bet m'lucky earring. I tells ya, Scraggletooth just got lucky, 'e did." The dumb voice was getting closer, sounding nasally and low-pitched. _An annoying voice for an annoying idiot._

"Y'shouldnt 'ave bet that the battle would last more than an hour," replied an equally stupid voice, "This Nyara cat didn't put up much of a fight. I tell ya, I pictured a large male with bunches o' tattoos and a big sword, not a _female_."

"I know, but I figgered that this nobeast knew this cat or wot she wanted, so they'd stay around an' sort it out, king to warlord."

"Oh, they sorted everything out, they did," snorted one of the loud-mouths. They were closer now, just close enough for the spy to see that one of them was a stoat and the other a snow fox.

"Too bad the Ice General got into one of his violent moods," the stoat shrugged, "Ruined everything, I'd say." The snow fox only nodded dumbly. _Does that mean they'll both shut up now?_

Silently, Slyte leaned down from his hiding place to peer closely at the guards who were right under him, oblivious to everything. They seemed so stupid and ordinary to him, just boring. The young pine marten sighed inwardly as he limbered up and jumped to the next beam in a blink of an eye. He turned around to see the hapless soldiers continuing on their way, chatting amiably while he began slipping away silently. Suddenly, something one of them had said seemed to snag his ear.

"Shouldn't last long, ya know." The other was quick to agree.

"Not when we have all the secret weapons we need."

_Secret weapons? Now _that's _something worth hearing about._ Still as swift and silent as the shadows, he doubled back and followed them, listening eagerly. _Ha! They're too dead-brained to bother looking up!_

"Aye. We've got the Basilisk on our side, for one thing. The king would get it ta work later."

"And don't forget the Prophesied One," the other piped up.

"That one too. Shouldn't last too long unless the lynx has got some sort'a plan up her sleeve too."

_It's not quite complicated, actually.__She's a cat that holds very little secrets right now, though she does have a plan. But what's this Basilisk? And what's the Prophesied One they keep talking about? _He kept following after them smoothly, drinking in the words they uttered between themselves.

"So wha' happened to that Basilisk anyways?" the snow fox asked, stifling a yawn. "'E was supposed to be there t'get rid o' those filthy pirates."

"Dunno," the stoat shrugged lazily, "Word 'round 'ere is that 'e finally died. Choked on a slave, 'e did." At those words, the fox stopped to look at his companion, his eyes widening.

"_No_," he gasped in disbelief. Immediately, the stoat swaggered up to him, puffing out his chest as he defended whatever little "honor" he had.

"Calling me a liar?" he snarled.

"No no," the fox shook his head so fast it looked like a blur. "I was jus' sayin' that of all times ta die, why now? When we finally need 'im?"

"Who knows?" his companion relaxed his muscles and was now talking as easily as he had before. "But there's also rumors goin' round that he's either escaped or trapped in his chambers of death."

"Huh," the fox said sullenly, "If he's escaped then the first thing he'd do would be to feast on that pirate army. They look fleshy enough."

_Last time I was back at camp, everybeast seemed fine to me. But just what the hell is a Basilisk anyways?! Somebeast, from the sounds of it. If I don't get any good news, Nyara would probably skin me alive. Maybe._

"So now when's the next battle goin'ta be?"

"Depends. Some say that the pirates will attack, and some say that General Thanatos will throw them off his beaches hisself."

"I hope 'e does."

"It all depends on whether or not that vixen would say he should. You know 'e does whatever she tells 'im."

"But the Sigma is _dying_. I bet the soothsayer's insane like the last seer, what's-her-name... er..." the fox strained his face so that it looked like the pressure from just recalling a name could potentially make his head explode. "Fligg... yes, yes, that's right. Fligg!" Slyte rolled his eyes at the scene, the fox looking pleased with himself for such a simple task. _Well done, Smart One._

"She might as well, with the Prophesied One bein' 'er successor and all," the ferret cocked his head to the side as he scratched his chin leisurely before he continued.

"Also 'eard that this one's going to be special, 'e is. Just a'fore she died, that Fligg seer vixen thing sez that one'a the next seers was to be a _male_snow fox. So she died and would'ya know it, seasons later, everything she prophesied came true and Sigma declared Gargo the chosen one and next apprentice." The stoat finished his lengthy explanation with a belch, making the pine marten wrinkle his nose in disgust.

_Gargo? Sigma? Fligg? Basilisk? Weirdest names I've ever come across. _

Slyte slowed his pace down, feeling the muscles in his limbs tire from leaping from beam to beam continuously, his ears straining to hear the little bits and pieces of half-revealed secrets. The effort was worth it, though, since luck had seemed to grace him with unexpected information from unlikely sources. But just as the information was just beginning to get juicy, they suddenly turned the topic around.

"So what're they serving for dinner t'day?"

"'Ow the hell should I know?"

"'Cause yore always the one in the gossip circle!" the snow fox replied.

"Barely feed us anythin'," the stoat scowled, muttering incoherent curses under his breath. Breathing heavily, the pine marten rested on the beam, leaning against the wall as he watched the two once-useful guards get swallowed up in the darkness, them and their voices.

There was so much he didn't quite understand about this place. He'd never been in a place so huge, so full of ancient secrets and mysteries. And the new snippets of information only intrigued him more. _Hm, this place just might be worth looking into after all. But j__ust who was this Gargo? Is he really that special? And what about that other seer? Can she really be the real deal? A real seer?_ He pondered the last question he proposed on himself. He'd seen plenty of fake seers in his travels, and never a real one to speak of. The corsairs, being the superstitious bunch they were, would hang on every word, but he knew better than that.

_And what about Basilisk? What's he like? Is he supposed to be some great warrior?_He stretched his muscles as he thought things over. Perhaps he should stay a while longer and see what he could dig up? After all, Nyara couldn't really be mad at him if he returned with good news and a list of weaknesses.

_Hm... well spying and climbing are all I've ever been taught. I might as well do my job well, so sorry Nyara. You'll just have to wait for me to take my time. It should just be a while. Just long enough for me to explore the Royal Castle._

* * *

**I had the most fun writing about Reun, actually. I know how kids are, I babysit, and sometimes you just can't please them. (rolls eyes) I feel for her. Anyways, there is some characterization about Thanatos embedded in her segment, and maybe some hints about their relationship. It's a complex, and somewhat dysfunctional one, and it's certainly interesting. I'll be releasing the backstory little by little as I go along.**

**And as for Ragnar, I enjoyed writing his part too, but not as much, which explains why it's so brief. Seems that he has a little spy working for him. And he even dropped a hint about his fatal disease (and no, it's no particular disease, I'm just making it up as I go along). As for Miska (20-23), thank you Jarrtail for prompting me to invent her. I don't know if you remember her name or what you told me to do, since it was a long time ago. If you remember, please don't write it in your review. Thanks. :)**

**And as for Bodan/Nyara's part, that was very short I know, but I wanted to introduce Slyte a little. Heh, it's funny how Nyara rants.**

**Slyte is a pine marten (26-ish), and one of my favorite characters to come, I think. His name is pronounced the same way you'd say "slight". He has some very interesting abilities, and I'll get to that sometime. Tell me what you think about him. And yes, I'm aware at the whole convenience of the gossiping vermin, but he has to find out something sometime. And in his segment, there are one or two little predictions you could make. One of them might just stand out to you, if you caught something weird that the guards said. Hm, lots of mysteries and conspiracies running around.**

**So, next chapter is going to focus on Brink and Keetch. I'm done with it, actually, so it'll be up by next Friday or so. ;)**

**REVIEW! Any comments, ideas, suggestions, questions, constructive criticism, etc. are welcome guys. Thanks for reading.**


	39. Wounds Left Untouched

**Thanks to the abundance of Snow Days I've been having (thank you snow), I'm pretty much 2 chapters ahead of schedule. Yay! And I really liked writing this chapter. It's full of character development, but don't worry. Things will be getting good real soon. :)**

**Special thanks to all who reviewed over the week: Roflmonkeypoop (anonymous), Fwirl of Redwall, Sanfrasm, Awsomewriter123, Foeseeker, Jarrtail, Persarr, Zinachu, Martin the Warrior, and SnuffSnuff. Thanks you guys. :)**

**Q and A**

**NOTE: I don't think I can actually answer any questions to all your theories and stuff like that, since I'm trying to pull a mysterious kind of effect over the story. So no, at the moment, I can't really answer many questions right here.**

**Awsomewriter123: The slaves in both Greymorg and the corsairs will play a part in all of this. Can't tell you what they do, but they'll do something eventually. :)**

**Martin the Warrior: Thanks for your review. You've got a point about Reun being too good (sorta). The thing is, she's really just a neutral character (not all of my vermin characters necessarily have to be evil). I mean, Reun just does what she thinks is best for herself and doesn't really see the need to go psycho and beat up slaves or kill unnecessarily. All in all, she doesn't see the need to get out of her way just to be evil.**

**And to all people who won the last contest, your prize will come around when I'm done with all this character development. Just be patient and things'll definately be worth the wait. ;)**

* * *

**Wounds Left Untouched**

* * *

The sun was now setting into the distant horizon, a soft coral pink glowing on the underbellies of the clouds above while the birds were flying back to their homes, singing their sweet songs one last time before night would envelope the forest and leave everything to the mercy of darkness.

Meanwhile, Clove was dutifully keeping watch while her master was sleeping. She leaned against the trunk of a towering oak, watching the birds flit through the skies- the very symbol of freedom. She sighed as her paws fiddled with a spindly twig, accidentally snapping it. With a shrug, she grabbed another from the ground, rolling it between her fingers while her mind wandered.

It had been two days since her master had returned, and she was relieved that he'd come back to her at all. She always knew it in her heart that she was worthless, that the only reason her masters had ever kept her around was because she was necessary for that Ritual of Bones.

She winced at the memories, looking at the thin scars that traced their way up her arms in criss-crossed fashions. _Innocent blood._ That was what they needed to read the bones. And still yet, she wanted to serve Keetch better than she did Grack. He actually fed her and he never did hit her, and she was more than grateful for it. She was scared and alone when he was gone and she had hoped with all her heart that he would come back for her. And he did... well, mostly.

It puzzled her, how he was acting so differently. Where he would normally order her around sharply, he barely gave her a command at all. And sometimes, he would allow her the first pickings of a meal, though she was always careful to take the lesser portions should this thing ever be some kind of test. And he was speaking softer now, waiting for her when she wandered too far off, and sometimes attempting random conversations that almost always failed.

For the most part, Clove was glad of the changes, yet was more confused about them than anything. Why did he act so differently after he disappeared? What did he do and where did he go? _What if this Keetch is a fake?_ Her eyes went wide and round as the theory caught in her mind. It was possible, but she was too afraid to question him, just as she was too afraid to wake him now. Nervously, she stole a sideways glance at him, only to see that he showed no signs of stirring.

Usually, they stuck to a strict schedule, traveling from dawn 'til afternoon, resting until early evening, and traveling some more until night. And when they rested, they took turns watching while the other slept, Clove usually watching in the afternoon and Keetch taking his watch in the night. But now, her master had seriously over-slept, wasting valuable time. And it was dark too, so wasn't it her time to sleep? She stifled a yawn, imagining curling up and resting her eyes. But no, Keetch had told her to do something and she had to do it. And still, she could always wait for her master to wake up, and right now, she had more to worry about than her own rest.

She wasn't sure what to do now, wake him or let him sleep? If she left him to his rest, would he be angry at her for not telling him? Or of she woke him, would he be mad at her for disturbing him? It seemed that either way, he was going to snap at her. She had tried at least a dozen times to muster the courage to alert him, but time and time again, her will always failed her whenever she came close to him, forcing her to shrink back before anything could be done. Clove twisted the twig with her paws, looking back at the sleeping figure every now and again.

"No..." Her ears pricked up at her master's voice. She turned around, looking at him fearfully, but he was still lying on his side, facing away from her.

"... Leave..." he murmered in his sleep, shifting slightly, "... Go away... No..." Clove just stared at the snow fox, wondering if he really wanted her to leave or if he was just dreaming.

"Keetch?" she whispered as she cautiously crept up to his side.

"No no," he said as he rolled on his other side, curling up tighter, "Don't... leave him... no..."

"Keetch?" she breathed, kneeling beside him.

"Brink... run... don't..." his eyes furrowed as his voice rose, kicking his cloak off of him. "Leave'im... alone..."

Clove just stayed where she was, wondering if it was wise to wake him up. He was in the middle of a nightmare, she knew that. Old Grack had plenty of those in her later days. She remembered how she would wake up in the middle of the night to the sounds of screaming, only to see the old vixen writhing around in her sleep and shouting garbled words. The little rabbit had had her share of nightmares, that was for certain, and it didn't help that they always ended in harsh beatings. Should she wake him?

"Brink... no... don't die... don't... leave him..." he shouted, rolling in his sleep as he shuddered and sweated.

_What's a Brink?_

There was more shouting, most of them now incomprehensible, making her stumble backwards in fright.

"Keetch!" she gasped, panicking. _Should Clove wake him? What should Clove do? Keetch, wake up! Wake UP!_

"Keetch! _Keetch_!" she yelled, but her shrill little voice didn't seem to penetrate the barrier that sleep had put over him.

"No no no no no! Run... Brink... run... AWAY!" he screamed, his voice strained and panicked as he thrashed at nobeast in particular.

"KEETCH!" she grabbed his arm and shook him (but not too hard), calling out to him. "Keetch! Wake up!"

"NO! GET OFF!" he thundered. Instantly, his eyes snapped open and she would've been relieved had she not felt a thudding pain on the side of her face the next moment.

She saw the world go black for just one heartbeat, and the next thing she knew, she was flat on her back, the corner of her mouth throbbing. Dizzily, she reached up to touch it when she felt somebeast grab her by the neck and pin her to the ground.

"_What have you done with him?_" her master roared, his eyes fierce and unfocused. "_What have you done to Brink?!_"

"N-no please," Clove squealed, grabbing his wrists desparately as she kicked her legs to struggle away. Her mouth was filled with the hot and sticky taste of blood, the side of her face was still stinging, and the strangling grip on her throat was threatening to reduce her to pulp. "Please Master! Clove doesn't know! Clove _doesn't _know anything! _Please!_" She shut her eyes tight as she shook her head, choking on her sobs. "No no no no no no no..."

Then, slowly, the cold fingers that were curled around her neck began to loosen as if they'd heard her pleas. Panting and crying, she cracked her eyes open, seeing nothing but the night sky at first, but then her eyes focused on her master's face, half-concealed by the darkness. A sickening realization seemed to seep into his expression as he released his hold on her. Immediately, the little rabbit sat up and squirmed away, tears still streaming down her cheeks.

And as for her master, she didn't dare look back at him. He'd never hit her. Not until now, at least. But based on his ragged and panicked breathing and his shivering, she pictured him to seem almost scared. _But scared of what? _

They stayed silent, both of them refusing to look at each other as they recovered from the incident. The shock of it all didn't seem to die that easily, and Clove found herself unable to stop weeping or trembling. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't fight back the sobs, which had seem to come unbidden. She tried desparately to stifle the strangled noise, in case she awakened her master's wrath once more, but it seemed that her whimpers had a will of its own. Desolate and trembling, she hugged her knees to her chest and cupped her paw to the tender spot where he'd hit her, the blood drying despite the chill she found in this hour.

"Go to sleep." Her master's voice sounded like a stranger to her, a soft and shaken noise. "I'll take care of it in the morning."

She chanced a look at him right there and then, and at once, she wished that she hadn't.

This figure in front of her now seemed a world away from the fox she always knew, respected, and feared.

He seemed just as shocked as she was, a weary form slumped against a tree, his elbows resting on his knees as his forearms hung loosely. And his composure was eminating an air of defeat, his tail curled tightly around him as if the thick fur could comfort him. And finally, she looked at his face, which seemed so disquieted and numb as his eyes stared at the blank space before him. Even after he came back to her weary and half-starved, he had looked nothing like this.

Finally, after her eyes had seen their fill, she moved in jerky motions, curling up into a comfortable-enough position and turned away from him, staring out into the seemingly-peaceful forest. Thoughtfully, she used a paw as a pillow, cushioning her bruised face from the dirt. She didn't know how long she lay there, tears still falling quietly as she stared into the dark scenery, but eventually, she did fall to merciful sleep.

* * *

_Now just where is that otter? _Jolin sighed to herself as she trudged through the dirt path, searching for somebeast.

_No wait. Ladylike steps, Jolin,_ she reminded herself as she forced herself to take more dainty steps._ Ladylike. _

But it was a struggle confining her strides to something so slow, so she just walked quickly, though this time she didn't pump her arms as if she meant to plow down some obstruction. _Oh. But then again, I don't want to be all sweaty and breathless when I reach him. It would be so embarrassing and awkward and I'd look like a desparate fool._ So she slowed her pace down to a casual walk as she continued looking ahead eagerly.

_Now just where is Brink? Just where _is _he? I need to talk to him._ He wasn't at his bunk, that was for sure, and nobeast had seen him for almost the entire day. At first, she panicked, believing that he just packed up and left without a single word. Not a single good-bye, a chance for her to change his mind or allow her to come with him. But to her relief, none of the supplies were gone from the cellar and then she called herself foolish, since she should've trusted him on his word. _He promised he'd stay for the Spring Festival. So there. _

But the thought of him leaving still weighed down on her mind. At first, when Skipper had told her, she laughed it off, but when she saw his unsmiling face, her heart plummeted. "Uncle Raller. This isn't funny!" she had told him, but he just had a pitying countenance as he laid a paw on her shoulder and told her to "let him go". Let him go. Like as if he were a small-fry she'd just caught in the stream.

And she remembered seething as he tried to talk to her, try to find some way to comfort her, some way to tell her that he'd been separated from loved ones too. And she knew what topic he'd touch upon. Aver. Or maybe he'd talk about her father? Either way, she always found those tale depressing, and to hear them right then, it wouldn't help one bit.

_"No Uncle Raller," she shouted, her voice wavering, "You _aren't _helping!" And then she rushed off to her room, slamming and barring the doors before she leapt onto her bed and let her pillow soak up her tears. It wasn't until a couple hours that her uncle had decided to come talk to her again, and she allowed it, both of them minding their tongues. This time, he didn't attempt to talk about his almost-wife, or his deceased brother, though she could tell he wanted to talk about them so much, to share the pain._

But that was then and this was now. _Brink is all that matters now._ Jolin perked up as she pictured her traveling with him, both of them on some wild and romantic journey to the unknown. And wherever she was, no matter how dangerous it became, her Brink would be there to protect her unfailingly. She knew he was skilled with all manners of weapons, practicing and practicing every single day. _He always tries so hard._

In her mind, she came up with a daring and romantic scene: she would be in a beautiful white lacey dress while she was held captive by a vicious gang of vermin, but she would stay strong, showing no fear or doubt for her true love no matter how much the villains threatened her. And when they drew their daggers and all hope seemed lost, her brave warrior would show up, dressed valiantly, wielding shining weapons. With swift movements and relative ease, he would strike the vermin down and free his lady from her bonds before he scooped her up in his arms and gave her a passionate kiss.

All of a sudden, she felt her heart flutter and her cheeks glow with warmth at the thought of that. _Yes. Just like in the stories... well, except for the story of Martin the Warrior. Rose's death was so terribly and beautifully tragic, but the way Martin grieved for her and carried her memory in his heart was _so _romantic._ She remembered when she first heard the tale, how she cried at the death while her insensitive brother slept through the entire story. _But no. I'd rather not end up like her. I'd rather live my life happily without letting my death weigh down the hearts of anybeast._

_Plop!_

She stopped at the sound, trying to pin-point its source.

_Plop!_

_Aha! So that's where you are!_ Without a second thought, she walked off the path and into the sparse woods, knowing the way like the back of her paw. This was where she'd spent half her childhood, where her uncle helped her catch her first fish, where Rosco would hide in the bushes and jump out to scare her, where she helped shy little Tarka learn how to swim, where they'd all run around collecting fireflies to light their lanterns. She smiled at the childish memories that rose in her mind. _I should visit this place more often._

The land dipped down slightly to reveal a deep and lazy river that bubbled in glittering shades of blue in the day and obsidian in the night. And off to the right, the lands on both sides of the bank rose to the same height, forming a wall over the waters, the muddy sides riddled with roots and fern. These walls weren't too high, just standing about fifteen feet from the water's surface. _Any higher and Uncle Raller wouldn't have let us jump off of it and make splashes in the river,_ she thought fondly.

And resting right on the highest points of the bank was a thick tree trunk that served as a bridge- or a bench, a diving board, a basking site, or whatever she wanted it to be. And sitting in the center of it with his back turned to her was Brink, listlessly tossing rocks into the river one by one.

_Shh-plunk!_

Quietly, she walked towards him, up the up-hill slope, slowly so that she wouldn't slip and get mud on her dress. She swallowed nervously, wondering if it was the best idea to talk to him about this now. She hadn't actually prepared for any serious talk of joining him, anyways. That and the fact that he seemed to be in another one of his inverted moods, preferring to mull things over on his lonesome. But still, she'd come all this way to see him, so if anything went wrong, she could at least know she tried.

_True love conquers all, _she declared to herself.

"Brink?" He turned his head to her, surprise on his face. She was standing at the foot of the bridge, smiling softly with her paws on her lap, one neatly folded over the other.

"Jolin? What're ye doing here?" She watched him raise a curious eyebrow as she giggled softly.

"I should be asking you the same question. I used to hang around here a lot."

"Really? Well, what did you do here?" he asked, kicking his legs as he leaned back to stare at the flawless stars.

"Oh," she paused, looking at the corner of her vision as she thought of something to say, "This is a great fishing spot in the spring, a place to bask in the summer, and a playground in the fall."

"Oh."

"Brink, do you mind if I sit by you?"

"Uh... sure." She smiled sweetly at him as she stepped on the log, careful not to slip. She remembered crossing it easily when she was little, but now she seemed suspended higher than she remembered, the bark slippery and flaky under her paws. She narrowed her eyes in concentration, since the fact that Brink was watching her didn't help one bit. At one point, her heart skipped a beat when her footpaw slipped from under her.

"Jolin!" Brink called. But she waved her arms wildly in the air, regaining her balance just in the nick of time. Panting, her face flushed, she looked back to Brink to see him crouching with one leg under him, positioned to spring to her rescue and pull her back to safety. _He was going to save me._

"I'm alright," she said breathlessly.

"You sure?" She only nodded in response, flashing a weak smile as he offered his paw to her for support. _Oh that's so sweet!_ She accepted his help gracefully, blushing as he guided her to her seat. Only when she was sitting comfortably and all the wrinkles on her dress was smoothed out did she talk to him.

"Thank you for your help. Erm... just out of curiosity, what were you doing here?"

"Thinking."

"Thinking of what?" she asked. He gave her a shy glance and he averted his eyes quickly. _Oh no. Did I ask the right question?_

"You don't have to answer if you don't want to," she replied hurriedly.

"Alright." Silence followed suit and for a time, she thought about dismissing herself at once before anything else could go wrong. _No. Wait. You can do this. You _have _to do this._

"Do you know what I think about?" she asked, slowly leading him to the perfect topic.

"What?"

"I think about the world," she lied, "I think about seeing all the places from the stories. The fiery Mount Salamandastron and its league of perilous hares, Noonvale and its gardens of roses, the beautiful fields of Green Isle, seeing the icy Northern Mountains and maybe a Flower of Icetor, _everything_." Well, it was a half-lie, actually, since she really would love to see those places of legend, though she didn't think traveling all those miles would be quite worth it.

"Really?" His voice piqued with interest. Immediately, Jolin nodded with enthusiasm.

"And where will you go to, Brink? Any of those places?"

"I'll go back to my home, Seafoam Isle... and probably visit one of those other places sometime. Maybe."

"Well that's a good place too!" Her voice rang with perkiness, making the ottermaid wince internally. _I sounded like an idiot. _Though if the otter beside her thought the same, he didn't show it. Instead, he just nodded and looked out to the water.

"So what's it like?" she ventured further, "What was your home like?" She heard a sigh escape his lips and instantly regretted asking.

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to," she said, as if it was an after-thought.

"Um. No. It's alright," he replied with a shrug, "It's nothing special or secret or anything. I just sorta miss it is all."

"Was it anything like this place?" she asked softly, wondering if he'd just stand up and leave in response to this sudden interrogation. He never liked talking to anybeast about where he'd come from or what he'd been through, though he did leak hints of his former life from time to time. The shrews had told her that he was a different beast when he'd met them. "Full of grins'n'talk," they had said.

_But that old Brink they recalled had never tasted the bitterness of betrayal. His troubles always come back to that fox._

"... and everybeast was just the same as anybeast else. Boring." She was suddenly aware of the voice that droned on with the tune of crickets. She blinked, and it was then that she realized that Brink had actually answered her after all. Instantly, she gave him an improvised smile.

"I'm sorry to hear that." She slapped herself mentally for this awkwardness. And then she gave herself a mental kick after five seconds of heavy silence passed them by.

"Why did you leave then?" she finally asked, shattering the unwanted silence. "Were you looking for adventure or maybe justice in the world?"

"Huh?"

"Y'know. Did you leave home to travel the world? To see new beasts and places? Or maybe you were out there to battle vermin and make them pay for their misdeeds, saving beasts from their malice? Like Martin the Warrior?"

"If only I could've," he said flatly, letting his shoulders sag. "Battling swash-buckling pirates an' raising rebellion isn't all as easy as the stories make it." Sensing his sadness, she let a comforting paw rest on his leg, just above the knee. She noticed his shoulders tense at the touch, but he didn't pull away from her.

"You tried, though," she looked at his eyes, seeing the anger and disappointment in them, noting their sea-grey color. "You tried your best."

"That's all I ever do, though. _Try."_ Jolin thought she saw his fists clench, but she was too busy fumbling for words to say. He had failed some creatures, the other slaves on that slaveship. The shrews had told her about that.

"You were just one beast," she soothed, shifting closer to him.

"But I was so _stupid_."

"'Brave' and 'stupid' are completely different things." It was meant to calm him, but it had the opposite effect, making him despair.

"But not once did I ever save _anybeast_," he insisted, his voice now reminiscent to that of a helpless child. Slowly, he lowered his gaze from her face and stared at the rippling river, his voice morphing back to a solemn one. "I only kill, Jolin. I never save. I might be the one who's brought justice to some, but I've never actually _saved_ anybeast. Never made any good difference."

"You're wrong. I-"

"I killed some slavers, but I was helpless to save the slaves," he interrupted tersely, his voice heavy with loathing as it carried on louder and louder. "What does it matter when killing wouldn't bring anybeast back? I killed the captain of _The Pillager_ but let Ma Krammel pay for my thoughtless thirst for vengeance, I didn't come to save that pair of rabbits in time before those thieves got to 'em, and I didn't-" He stopped right there, choking back the words before he said them, but she knew what he was going to add to the list. _It always comes back to that fox._

"If you want, you can talk to me Brink," she whispered, coaxing the conversation out of him. "But you don't have to if it's too painful."

"... Keetch," Brink let the words tumble down his tongue as he ran his paw through the fur on his head. "He was probably the only beast I've ever actually saved in my entire life. And then I let him slip away. Gone. Because I was too _stupid_. You might as well say I've killed him too." He sighed at that last statement, resting his elbows on his knees as he slouched. _So that's what he hides under that shell. _Gently, the ottermaid put her paw on his shoulder, and this time, he didn't tense up at her touch.

"You were just angry when you shouted at him. Nobeast could blame you for that."

"I guess not," he mumbled, "But I should've given him more credit. He was a vermin- a _reformed _one. You don't expect them to just act like some righteous hero. I should've just been happy with the fact that he didn't harm innocents, but _no_. I had to let some of that stupid pride get to me. I was so angry..." he shuddered, "So _angry_ when he left me to die. Angry because I was half-wrong about him. Angry because I thought..." he lowered his voice some more, "... because I thought I was wrong. Wrong that I was important to him- _special_."

"But you were important," she replied, "He came back to beg for forgiveness."

"And I threw it back in his face," he snapped, though she knew the anger was not aimed at her. _But the fox deserved it. _She wanted to say that, but she knew how defensive he was towards that fox. He always got all sulky and quiet whenever Uncle Raller mentioned him and referred to him as a coward.

"You were just angry," she repeated lamely.

"I was. I was and I shouldn't've been. I should've remembered that I was important to him. We suffered together- unwillingly at first, but we shared the same pains. He stood by me when we fought off the slaver captain, he did it again when I attacked the band of vermin, and he nearly died doing both of those. Why wasn't that good enough for me, though? He was a _vermin._ The fact that he risked his life at all should've meant something to me, but I was so _blind_ and _stupid_." She caught his voice crack for a moment, and there was a small sniffling sound. _Is he crying? _But when he turned back to face her, his face was dry.

"Heh." _And now he's laughing?!_ But it was a choked laugh, not a joyous one."It's strange, how he always wanted to live a nice peaceful life in a little cozy cottage. He might've been happy 'ere, and I think the Redwallers would've liked him. He was always shy and scared and very polite, and he had a good head on his shoulders. I was always the crazy one of the two," there was a note of fondness and a wistful smile that went along with those memories. But all of that died away and his voice hardened.

"But then I scared him off, broke his heart. So now he's probably out there, his dreams crushed because he can't forgive himself. What if he rejoined other vermin because I broke his trust? Because I convinced him that he can never be good enough to be among goodbeasts? What if he's _dead_? If any of those things happened, its my fault. He probably hates me now, and I don't blame 'im..." Jolin only stayed quiet, not knowing what to say to all of this. It was a heavy burden he was carrying in his heart, not a yearning for adventure. And what did she know about guilt and death? Near to nothing.

"I'm sorry," she finally murmered under her breath. "Also, thank you."

"Huh? What for?"

She gave him a soft, sad smile. "For sharing your thoughts with me."

"Uh... you're welcome." _He looks like a tough otter on the outside, but he's so bashful around me._

"Brink?" she scootched a little closer, "I always knew you liked being alone sometimes, and now I know why. But you don't have to be alone anymore. You don't have to torture yourself for past mistakes. You have to keep moving forward, and if you feel that all you can ever do is kill, then do it. Just make sure that you try harder to save goodbeasts this time. Learn from your mistakes, Brink. As long as we know you mean well, we can never hate you for it." And once more, he was silent.

"Brink, you should never have to be alone."

"What, are you trying to tell me that I have to 'let others into my heart' or something?" he asked incredulously, "I've heard that before and it doesn't really help that much."

"No," the ottermaid didn't hesitate. "I mean that I want to go with you."

"_What?!_"

"Brink," she explained in a sweet voice, "I want to see the world. I want to live an adventure. I want to be with _you_." She looked at him and saw his eyes go wide as he blinked owlishly.

"What?" he repeated, heat rising from his cheeks. _Oh no. Maybe I've gone too far._

"What I mean is, I know you'll keep me safe," she flustered.

"I... don't know," he said slowly, "Are you sure you want to come with me? It's dangerous and you'll be far from home."

"I don't mind."

"And your uncle and your brother? They'll miss you, you know." _Not as much as I'll __miss you, Brink._

"I'll see them again."

"But will Skipper allow it?" he pressed.

"He will if I ask him," she answered confidently, though doubts were already flooding her mind.

"Are you really sure about it then?," he asked hesitantly, "I won't mind if you come with me, but traveling is harder than it sounds."

"It's fine."

"A-alright," he shrugged, his voice ringing with uncertainty. "I guess you can come along, but only if your uncle says it's okay."

"He will," she beamed, inching closer once more. Brink just stared out at the river again, not seeming to notice the close proximity between them.

"So can you tell me about yourself?" she asked, "Tell me about your travels."

"I think you already know that it's not a happy one, not like the stories that you like so much."

"I know. But I just want to hear about you." She smiled as she saw him shrug at her request and inhale slowly before he began.

"I guess everything began at Seafoam Isle..."

* * *

_Clove opened her eyes groggily, seeing nothing but a veil of darkness. "_It's still night?"_ was her first thought. She sat up slowly, yawning and stretching as she looked around, rubbing her eyes. And it was then that she realized that the place didn't smell of the forest's pleasant earthy scent of sap and flowers. And it didn't sound like the woodlands, with the crickets humming and streams trickling. And it certainly didn't feel like the outside world, where a breeze constantly caressed her face and the ground was soft and loamy. _

_"No," she said softly, as if to convince herself she wasn't here. But she was. She was back in the cave, and not just any cave either- Grack's cave. As her eyes got accustomed to the little lighting, she began to recognize the shelves of odd assortments of spiritual value, the bundles of drying herbs, the little space of soot where a fire usually burned. Slowly, her heart clenched in dread, she reached up to her neck. _

_And there, instead of the bandage that Keetch had fastened, she felt a tight, cruel cord around her neck. Immediately, she began to panic, a thousand questions buzzing in her head._

Was the Outside just a dream? But what about the other caves and trees and flowers and light and everything? Did such things even exist after all? And what about Keetch? Where did Keetch go? And was Old Grack still dead? But what if Keetch brought Clove back? Was Keetch displeased with Clove's service? Was Clove that useless that he'd travel all the way back to abandon her in the place Clove came from? But why? It wasn't fair! What happened? Why?!

_With clumsy, stiff fingers, she began to tug at the thin rope. She tugged once. Twice. Thrice. But the leash withstood it all. Finally, she leaned back, gripping the slack with both paws as she pulled with all her might, scrabbling backwards. She didn't know long she yanked and fought, but eventually she was back to sitting on the ground, exhausted._

_Looking around herself again, at all the horribly familiar things, she sniffled and let a small whimper escape from her lips. _Clove doesn't want to be here. Clove wanted to be free. Why's Clove here? Why's Clove all tied up? Keetch doesn't want Clove. Clove doesn't belong in the light anymore...

_"Shut your sniveling, Slave!" a voice grated. She flinched at the sound, recognizing it almost immediately._

_"Oh please," she begged, but to who or what, she didn't know. For all she knew, it would be for Keetch to come save her. Or maybe it was to Old Grack, asking her to cut the cord and let her go. Or maybe she was pleading not to be beaten? Well, whatever it was, she knew it was no use to expect any mercy._

_"I told you to be quiet, yes?" the cross-eyed vixen came from the shadows and approached her, not stopping until she was just inches away from her face so she could smell the seer's foul breath. Her eyes were lifeless cold marbles that roved blindly while she spoke, her fur was ragged as always, and there on her stomach was a gaping hole- the place where the dagger entered her before she died. Numb and terrified out of her wits, the little rabbit merely nodded. _

Where's Keetch? Clove wants Keetch, not ugly Old Master. Keetch please come back, _she thought to herself._

_"Such insolence!" the soothsayer exclaimed with her sharp voice._

_"Master-"_

_"You were thinking about my stupid traitorous apprentice, weren't you?" she jabbed an accusing claw at her chest, making sure to leave a bruise there._

_"But-" _

_"WEREN'T YOU?" she yelled, making the entire cave echo that terrible voice. Clove felt her heart race as she struggled backwards, trying to find something to say. However, no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't find any way to appease the old vixen. After all, her master had just asked a question. She didn't have a choice. She had to obey._

_"Y-y-yes," she stammered, regretting the truthful obedience in her nature._

_"I knew it! _I knew it!"_ Grack crowed as she raised a willowy switch above her head._

_"No Master! Please!" she held up a paw to her face and the pain came crashing down upon her wherever the foul crone struck. It came again and again and again, and the little slave found herself crying, pressed up against a pitiless wall- trapped and defenseless in this vicious onslaught. Finally, she decided to attempt her one last defense._

_"Keetch!" she screamed, hoping he would at least hear her out before he walked out of her life. "Keetch! Master! Help! Please help! Clove will work harder! Clove will serve Keetch better! Promise! Keetch please! Please!" But her shouts were later drowned out by Grack's dry cackles._

_"Foolish! You're a slave. Slaves have no names. You're Slave, not Clove. Slave, you hear me? And Keetch isn't coming back to save you, you stupid pathetic little worm."_

_"Keetch will!" she flared back, noticing that she wasn't even wailing anymore. She didn't know where that sudden strength from, but she said those words all the same. Perhaps she wanted it so bad that she was convinced it was true for a moment? But whatever it was, she shrunk back and regretted everything all over again._

_"No he won't," the vixen retorted, not even slowing down her violent strikes, "You know why?" The pain was dull now, and Clove opened her eyes to see her old tormentor, who wasn't even tiring from the swift strokes. And to her horror, she witnessed the old vixen's flesh slough off in rotting peels to reveal darker fur, brighter eyes, a completely different face altogether. Keetch. _

_She gasped as he laughed with glee, an evil maniacal sound. She had never heard him laugh before and now she wish she hadn't. And now he struck her again and again and again, the blows twice as painful as the ones before. And now, in this dark moment of despair and betrayal, Slave finally screamed and wailed until she thought her throat would burst. It was a shattering sound and the cave echoed the terrifying noise of despair mingling with madness._

* * *

She jerked awake, the pain searing away at her flesh before melting into a dull sensation. The birds were twittering, oblivious to the dark images that haunted the little rabbit in her sleep. Blinking away stray tears, Clove stayed perfectly still, lying in the dirt as she continued staring in disbelief at the scenery in front of her.

_The trees and birds are still here. The sun's still here, Clove's still here. _Slowly, she reached back up at her neck, feeling a ragged bandage there in place of a skinny collar. _Grack's not here. But what about Keetch? _Immediately after thinking that, she heard somebeast move somewhere behind her. Frightened, she stayed still, lying on her side and facing away from her master.

_Maybe if Keetch thinks Clove's still asleep, Keetch won't hurt Clove. _But obviously, she shouldn't have taken the snow fox for a fool.

"I know you're awake. Get up." The little rabbit shuddered, dreading the next beating that's to come her way. The nightmare was still fresh in her mind. She wished something was there to wake her instead of letting her suffer through the horror. Slowly, she obeyed her master, sitting up stiffly. To her surprise, she found her master's itchy black cloak draped over her body. _Was it there since Clove was asleep?_ But she didn't have time to think about that now.

Taking a deep breath, she gathered the cloak in her arms, careful not to dirty it, though it couldn't have gotten much filthier anyways. With that done, she walked up to the snow fox, who was sitting on a fallen tree, moving things around in his medicine case. He seemed to be in a strangely neutral mood at the moment, as if nothing happened at all last night.

Sullen and unsure, she stood before him. "Master called?"

"Yes," he said, not looking up from his work. Clove couldn't resist looking at the medicine case. It was right next to him, after all, and she was curious to see what was in it. For some reason, ever since he had returned from the cave, he didn't want her peering in it. To her disappointment, there was nothing out of the ordinary: a couple empty bottles, some jars of ointment, and some food. But what happened to the herbs? As if he was reading her mind, the snow fox spoke again.

"Most of the supplies didn't survive the journey. They got washed away in an underground lake."

"Sorry Master," she squeaked meekly, "Clove didn't mean to question."

"It doesn't matter," he said curtly, taking his cloak out of her paws and placing it beside him. "Now," he looked at her, scrutinizing her bruised face, "Let's have a look at that."

Nervous, she stood stock-still as her master inspected her cheek, brushing against the tender wound gently. Then he touched her broken lip, making her wince at the sting, the pain now reawakened. And carefully, he made her open her mouth so he could check to see if the inside was bleeding as well.

"You'll be fine," he said as he uncapped a tiny jar of pale green balm. The ointment stung and burned as he rubbed it over her cheek and mouth, but she stopped herself from making any sound. And finally, when he was done, he capped it and returned the jar to the medicine case. And still, she stood there, waiting for him to dismiss her so she could retreat to somewhere as far away from him as he allowed.

"Clove," he said slowly as he placed his paw over her cheek. Quickly, she flicked her gaze away from him, anticipating another blow.

"Yes Keetch?" she whispered, noticing that her knees were shaking.

"I struck you the other day," he stated as he brushed his thumb over the wound.

"Clove shouldn't have woken Keetch."

The snow fox sighed deeply. "I didn't mean to do it, Clove," he replied, "It was an accident. I thought I was still in the nightmare." But if Keetch was expecting some sort of response, he didn't get it. Instead, Clove stayed quiet, looking down at the ground. _What does Keetch want?_

"It was a very bad dream," he continued, looking troubled at the memory. "And it all seemed very real to me. I was practically half-asleep and I didn't realize it was you I was attacking." Still, she remained quiet, wishing he would just leave her alone now.

"Clove," he sighed, "Clove, look at me." She flinched as he clapped his paws on her shoulders. Fearful, she did as she was told and turned her head until their eyes met.

"Clove," he said, his voice heavy and solemn, "You have served me well all this time. Now I ask you to do something for me." She swallowed uncertainly, her head bobbing up and down in a zealous nod.

"Be honest with me then," was his command. "What do you think of me? Tell me what you think."

The little slave opened her mouth as if to say something, but shut it again before any sound had a chance to escape. Her eyes were big, and the way she gaped at him reminded the snow fox of a fish out of water, but he waited patiently for her response. Softly, she mumbled something or another but her words were incoherent.

"Speak louder."

"Keetch is good to Sla- Clove," she corrected herself. "Keetch doesn't beat Clove as much as Old Master and Keetch gives more food. And Keetch came back for Clove."

"You know I wouldn't hurt you, right?" She just looked at him, shaky and confused. "You know I would never starve you or beat you, or tie you up in some dark cave. I can promise you that. Do you understand?"

"Clove's gracious." _Keetch isn't going to hurt Clove?_ He gave her an exasperated, but sad look.

"And you should stop acting like you're my slave. You're not my prisoner anymore, so you should just... just stop being so _scared_ of me all the time, like I'm some kind of monster," he paused, looking at her at a sideways glance, "Clove, do you fear me?" She nodded.

"Do you like me?" She nodded again.

"But you can't both fear and like me. You have to trust me. I would never hurt you and I'll protect you in any way I can. I can't make you trust me or like me or stop being afraid of me. It's just something you have to do yourself. Alright?"

She nodded sheepishly.

"So don't be afraid to ask me anything or do whatever you want. You don't have to be afraid of me anymore." His tone was serious, but there was some gentleness to it that made the little rabbit relax.

_Anything? Ask anything? Can I ask what a Brink is?_ She almost asked that question. Almost.

"Yes Keetch," she said, forcing herself to give him a weak smile.

"Good," he said, getting back on his footpaws, "Now let's get going." Clove nodded, waiting for him to take the lead. She watched him silently as he donned his cloak and took his medicine case in his paw, a band of metal glinting in the sunlight. _What's that?_

Suddenly, she felt something heavy rest on her head. She looked up to be greeted by the sight of the snow fox looking down on her, his paw mussing up her headfur into even more of a tangled mess. He had done something like this before, when he'd come back to her. But this time, she didn't shrink away from him. Instead, she just smiled shyly, though it was finally a real smile. And when he lifted his paw from her head, she grabbed his wrist and gripped his paw in hers.

And just like her, Keetch flinched at the sudden gesture, but didn't pull away. His whole arm tensed up like a board, stiff and uneasy, but he learned to relax.

"Does Keetch like Clove?" she asked hesitantly, looking up at him.

"Yes," he admitted as he led her down the path, his paw still clutched between hers. "Yes, I like you." She beamed at the answer, and tilted her head to the side thoughtfully before she asked another question.

"Keetch said Clove can ask whatever questions Clove has?"

"Yes," he answered stiffly, "You can ask, but I might not answer."

"As many as Clove wants?" her eyes grew wide, grateful for this privilege- this _gift_.

"... Yes," he said again, though uncertain this time. Instantly, the little rabbit's mouth split into a toothy grin that seemed almost devilish in Keetch's opinion.

"Clove has a lot of questions," she announced proudly, her confidence in him obviously gaining.

_"Oh please don't make me regret this kindness," _Keetch moaned mentally, for he knew he was about to undergo some painstaking torture.

* * *

**Hm, I wonder what Keetch was dreaming about? It must have been terrifying, from the way he acted. And poor Clove, getting beat up like that (though it was an accident). I guess Keetch was just too confused and disoriented to recognize her. Hm, now that I think about it, it seems a little too much. But since I've already spent a ton of time writing this and it reads well, I guess I might as well keep dream was scary, I hope. **

**But hey, Keetch was kind of nice to her, though he's still a bit solemn and prickly. However, he does get points for trying. I mean, he did give her a blanket while she was asleep. How cute! Okay, I'm sorry if I wallow too much in the cuteness, but I really do enjoy writing their parts. And now Keetch has given her the power to ask as many questions as she wants? Ha! He's going to _suffer!_**

**And as for Jolin, I'm aware that I'm kind of giving girls a bad name here. I just thought that it would be in her character to be this way, fantasizing about Brink and being a vicious flirt and all. Don't worry, there are going to be a lot of girl characters later on. I just haven't gotten around to introducing them.**

**Brink is depressing again, though we do get more of a chance to get inside his head. He's pretty much kept all his regrets bottled up inside never really letting it out to anyone. I didn't want him to get overdramatic and start crying on a shoulder or anything, but I guess he behaved in character? :/**

**So, thanks for reading this chapter. Please REVIEW, since it only takes less than a minute to say something nice. Please? I don't mind any sort of constructive criticism, questions, ideas, suggestions, predictions, etc. I especially love harsh (but honest) thoughts, so don't hesitate to be mean, so long as you're honest. Thanks for your continuous support. :D**


	40. Falter

**All right. On to Chapter 40. Guess what? Winners of the contest get the chapter next week! I've already finished writing the next chapter and 80% done with writing the surprise chapter, so everything's going all according to schedule. There's a special date I'm aiming the climax for. Anyone gonna guess what that is? :D**

**Anyways, on to reviews and stuff. Special thanks to Fwirl of Redwall, Sanfrasm, Awsomewriter123, Foeseeker, Jarrtail, Moomoogirl1, Silverzeo, and Lightwatcher. I just love your reviews. ^^**

**Some of you guys might have noticed that I disabled the Anonymous Reviews for a while, since I felt under threat by that psycho-flamer who's been giving people thousands of the same dirty "reviews". Well, I re-enabled it so you anonymous people can review again. :)**

**This chapter is a little fillerish, yet it forshadows a bit of stuff that's just waiting around the corner.**

**Questions and Answers**

**Foeseeker: I know that my story has been plodding a little, but... just wait until next chapter's cliff-hanger. ;)**

**Awsomewriter123: Thanks for your advice about some of Clove's questions. :)**

**If anyone wants to contribute to Clove's inquisitive nature, just send me the questions she should ask. Just make sure she asks appropriate questions. So remember, no "where do babies come from?" questions. She's not going to ask that. :P**

* * *

**Falter**

* * *

"Taaaaarkaaaa!" Sarrow called in a sing-song voice as she skipped into the library.

"Sh!" the otter said, placing a finger to his lips as his eyes roved about a page in a giant, ancient tome. Sarrow just rolled her eyes and heaved an exaggerated sigh.

Of all the otters she'd ever known, Tarka was the strangest, the most bookish. Otters were always childish and loud, eager for fun and play. But not him. He was considered the odd one out of all the younger beasts, especially around his best friends. After all, he was the calm and mature Recorder's apprentice. Why would he be mingling with the likes of two "trouble-making brats" (as grumpy Sister Agatha liked to put it). _Now that I think of it, it's a wonder why that old grump is still alive?_

Finally having lost her patience, the squirrel approached him and attempted to peer over his shoulder.

"Do you _mind!_" he said as he waved her off, not even sparing her a glance. Again, she rolled her eyes as she ignored him, preferring to read whatever was so interesting to him.

"What's this?" she asked as she leaned in close so that her head was blocking his vision, her nose just inches from the text.

"It's... it's a..." he began uncertainly, realizing that there was no ridding himself of her.

Placing a paw in the book to save the page, she closed the covers and read the title. The book's green binding was worn and patchy and the letters on the title were embossed in a faded gold coloring. "A Record of Beasts in Mossflower... and Other Places..."

"I was just feeling like looking into Redwall's history," he explained sheepishly. Sarrow gave him a serious look that made him suspicious, but that was soon replaced by a wide, sparkling grin, which unnerved the otter even more. She flipped the book back to its original page and read over it, despite Tarka's protests.

"I really think that I should be doing this alone right now, Sarrow. I mean," he chuckled nervously, "You're quite a distraction sometimes and I feel that I've got to focus on my career as an Abbey Recorder, you know, since I have to be prepared in case Old Quimby d- I mean, retires. Yes, _retires_. I've got to have quite a bunch of knowledge in my head, you know. Heh, so no interruptions and-"

"Wolves," she stated, a thin smile on her face. Defeated, Tarka slammed the book shut.

"You were reading up wolves _again_?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"There's so little known about them. They rarely show up in any of the documents. And one of the only times a wolf was mentioned was as a pelt that the foxwolf Urgan Nagru wore."

"Tarka, haven't you ever thought that maybe the reason why there is no information about them is because there have been no survivors?"

"Huh?"

"Well," the squirrel explained, "Maybe all the beasts that have ever talked to them and stuff are dead? Killed by the wolves? Maybe that's why nobeast knows anything about them." It really did sound possible, after all. They were known to be large and muscular, armed with sharp claws and deadly fangs. Their very description created the image of a natural-born killer. But then again, not all killers are necessarily cold at heart.

"But a wolf saved me," Tarka replied defensively, completely confident. "He could've killed me with no trouble, but he didn't. He saved me from the vermin."

"But Tark, you know that nobeast had seen him 'cept you. You're the only beast that saw him, and there really isn't any proof that one's ever set foot 'round here."

"I know what I saw." Without another word, he walked over to the empty space in the shelf and wedged the book back in place. Sarrow couldn't help but feel sorry for him. Everybeast felt pity for him, actually. He was so quiet and reserved compared to all the other otters, and something about his silence unsettled most beasts. It was an improvement to the way he was as a child, though.

She still remembered how it seriously troubled Sister Mirril when he wouldn't talk or eat when he first arrived. But then again, what was expected from an orphan who just witnessed his parents' murder?

He seemed quite stable now, but not when she had first met him. It was such a long time ago, back when she was just out of her Dibbunhood.

---

_"Now I want you two to meet a special guest in the Abbey," the Skipper said to them both as he pushed them into the room. _

_"Alright, I've brought some friends that you can play with," the muscular otter introduced to the sickly figure in the bed. He pointed at Melo, who seemed quite bored. "That's me l'il mate Melo." And then he pointed down at the squirrel. "And here's little Miss Sunshine, Sarrow." She smiled at him and gave him a dramatic curtsey as Skipper pointed at the little otter._

_"Sarrow, Melo, this is our special little guest. We don't know his name and he's quite shy, so be especially nice to him. Okay?" Done with the introductions, he clapped them both on the shoulder before he began to leave the room._

_"Play nicely now." And then he shut the door. Sarrow looked behind, puzzled by the otter's eagerness to "get back to work". In fact, the entire abbey had been acting strangely. Everybeast was locking the doors, talking of vermin in the woods, taking more look-outs. And as for Melo, he just couldn't stop talking about being the next abbey champion. With a shrug, she turned her attention to the figure sitting on the bed that stared back at them with fearful eyes._

_"What're _you_ looking at?" little Melo snapped at him. Discouraged, the otter looked away, drawing his blankets up to his chest. It was clearly a gesture meant to appease the would-be warrior, but he wouldn't have it._

_"I'm sick and tired of talk about you being so quiet and trying to starve yourself t'death," he continued as he walked up to the bed while Sarrow said nothing and did nothing. _

_"Don't think we're stupid. We know what you're trying to do."_

_The little otter just sat there and looked at them both uncertainly and he began shaking as tears started welling up in his eyes. Immediately, the little squirrel felt a bit of pity for the poor thing. He was only a few seasons younger. He didn't do anything to start a fight._

_"Melo," she piped up, "You're gonna make him cry."_

_"So what? He's always been doing that. Don't let him get to you, Sarrow," Melo replied coldly before he turned his attention back to the unfortunate otter. "You think you can get everybeast's attention just because you don't feel like talking or eating? Well that's just dumb." He flung the blankets off the bed, leaving the stranger completely vulnerable and at his mercy._

_"Stop taking up all the attention! Skipper is _ours_, Mirril is _ours_, Friar Siffle is _ours_, Rosco and Jolin are _ours, _everybeast here is _ours_. We were here first, so stop being so needy and get a life," he finished, crossing his arms. "Got that?"_

_Meekly, the otter nodded, leaning away from the mouse. And then he began to sniffle. And then he cried. Sarrow walked forward to comfort him while Melo stepped back uncertainly before he decided to say more._

_"Go ahead and tell on me for all I care. But you can't talk. Stop being so wimpy and stand up for yourself. Every warrior hates cowards." But the otter only started crying more, the silent tears forming wet spots on the bedsheets._

_"He can't help it Melo," Sarrow said in his defense. "He lost his mommy and daddy and he just wants new ones." Melo scowled at that last sentence, and Sarrow couldn't help but feel sorry for him too._

_"I lost my Da," he muttered darkly. "I don't cry for a new one."_

_"Melo, what if he tells Skipper you're being mean to him?"_

_"Then everybeast will know he can talk. Let him."_

_Curious, Sarrow looked at the otter, wondering if he could really talk. Was he really what Melo said? A big baby that cried for attention and acted stupid just to get everybeast to coddle him?_ Maybe he'll feel better when he gets a new mommy and daddy. And maybe he'd feel good enough to talk and laugh if he gets a better mommy and daddy than his old ones?

_"Hi!" she said, waving an enthusiastic paw in front of his face. He shied away from her._

_"My name's Sarrow," she said, jabbing a thumb at herself. "Sah-row," she reiterated slowly with hand gestures, "Do... _you_... un... derstaaaand?" The otter nodded, raising an eyebrow. Melo only snorted._

_"He's mute, not stupid."_

_Ignoring his reaction, she pointed at him as he stubbornly looked away. "And that's Melo." Then she leaned closer and whispered into the otter's ear. "And here's a secret. His real name's Bartholomelo, but he _hates_ that name."_

_"Hey!"_

_She giggled at his outburst. _

_"You said you wouldn't tell anybeast!"_

_"Well he's not going to tell anybeast, is he? He can't talk, remember?" She looked back at the otter, who didn't find the secret quite as amusing as she did._

_"Did you used to be able to talk?" He nodded his head._

_"Come on then, aren't you gonna talk?" The otter shook his head._

_"Does that mean you can't tell on us if we do anything bad?" she asked, her eyes widening. The otter shook his head again._

_"Yaaaay!" she squealed as she leapt onto his bed and began jumping on it, flinging herself higher and higher into the air. The otter scrambled up to the sides, doing all he could not to get trampled._

_"C'mon Melo!" she called to her friend. "He's alright. He isn't a tattler." She could see the temptation in his eyes, and he hesitated, but before she knew it, he gave in to the propects of this fun that had so often been banned from him. Begrudging as he was, Melo couldn't put up a mean front forever, and soon, he was laughing along with her like some giggly Dibbun._

_"C'mon!" Sarrow said invitingly, hauling the otter up by his paws. "Jump with us! If we jump hard enough maybe we can touch the ceiling!" The otter looked down to his footpaws, looked to the door, looked at Melo, then at her, and back to his footpaws._

_"You just jump," she said simply, demonstrating for him, her dress floating up like a cloud. "It's so easy. You try." She stopped to watch him, and Melo did the same. Quietly, the otter did as he was told, hopping gently as he felt the bedsprings creak beneath his weight._

_"Higher! Higher!" she encouraged. And soon, he was bouncing up and down, a ghostly smile on his lips as he felt the world turn a little bit lighter, the air whooshing up as he landed on his back, feeling as though he could fly._

_"You're doing it!" she cheered, "You're doing it!"_

_And when their work was done and the lop-sided bed was littered with feathers, Sarrow grabbed him by his arm and yanked him to the door._

_"Are you allowed outside?" He shrugged._

_"You want to play with us?" The otter hesitated, but ended up nodding anyways. Sarrow beamed at him and opened the door so she could lead him out._

_"I'll show you all the rooms in the abbey," she said excitedly. "It's going to be so much fun! You can help us steal from the kitchens... erm... it's called 'borrowing', acutally. And then we can play by the pond, and maybe we can pick some berries or climb trees!"_

_"Just as long as he doesn't tell our secrets," Melo interjected._

_"He won't tell," she replied. "He can't talk."_

_"Hmmmm," the mouse said as he looked the otter square in the eyes. "I guess if he can't tell our secrets... but remember," he said strictly, pointing his finger at the otter's nose so that he had to cross his eyes. "Me and Sarrow are bigger and older and a lot smarter. _We're_ the ones in charge." The newcomer nodded ardently, which satisfied the young mouse._

_"Fine," he said, nodding his approval. _

_"Yay!" Sarrow shouted, grabbing them both in a group hug. "We're gonna be the best of friends! I know it!_

---

And she was right. Even when Tarka began getting out of his trauma and started talking and eating again, she and Melo never stopped playing with him. They were like peas in a pod. But even then, sometimes the otter was an enigma to the both of them.

_Poor Tarka. He lost his parents and now he's so confused..._

"Tarka," she said, a villainous smile on her face, "Forget about reformed vermin and wolves for a while. Melo and I've got a Master Plan!" She emphasized the last two words with a flourishing voice.

"But I've got to organize-"

"Forget about the books too!" she urged.

"_Oh_," he groaned, "What is it this time? Does it involve me hurting myself again?"

"No."

"Humiliating myself?

"... a little..."

"What _now_?"

"Here's our plan," she explained optimistically. "It's _sure_ to work. Melo filled a jar full of old peanut butter and water and all sorts of other food and mixed 'em all together. What you're going to do is stand somewhere near the kitchens and empty the jar out on the floor when nobeast's around. Ooh, and make sure you empty it so it makes a _Splat!_ sound. Melo and I will take the jar and find someplace to hide it. And then when we give you the signal, you'll start making gagging sounds and everybeast will be too busy taking care of you and your 'vomit' to watch the food while we steal them."

"So..." he raised a quizzical eyebrow, "You want _me_ to pretend to be sick and get locked up in the infirmary so _you_ can steal biscuits and pasty?"

"That's the plan!" she grinned.

"But why am I always the one getting this role?"

"Because you're the one everybeast feels sorry about," she gave a tinkly laugh.

"So wait... I get this job because I'm the most _pathetic_?" He gave her as much as a disgruntled look as he was capable, folding his arms over his chest.

"That's correct!" She watched Tarka scrunch up his face as he thought things over. _He's going to go with it. He always does. Haha._

"Oh fine," he said, rolling his eyes as he heaved an exasperated sigh. "Count me in to this madness. But there's something I've got to tell-" But the squirrelmaid had already grabbed him by his wrists and yanked him out the door. She felt him lean back as he fought against the pull, but she ignored that.

"Wait- wait a second Sarrow." There was something odd about his voice, something that seemed to tremble and tug at her mind. She slowed down, looking back at him curiously as he pulled his paw free. There was trouble in his eyes.

"What now?" she grinned, still wary of that look.

"I had that wolf dream again," he admitted slowly, "And this time it felt different. _Darker_." She couldn't help but laugh at him.

"That's it? All this worry over some dream? What are you now, a seer?"

"No!" he said impatiently, "It's more than that. I have a feeling that something bad is going to happen. Maybe soon."

"You're crazy. Now c'mon, let's get some-"

"Fine then. I'm crazy. But Martin was in it," he insisted, "He didn't say anything, but he was there. Standing there in the shadows..." His voice slowly dwindled to a silence after he realized how ridiculous he sounded. And as for Sarrow, she simply rolled her eyes.

"Melo has dreams about Martin the Warrior all the time," she scoffed, "I bet half the time, he's just saying that to feel like the Abbey Champion."

"But it's different," he sighed wearily. "It feels _different_. I can't explain how." Watching the otter mumble and grumble to himself was almost too much to bear.

"Fine," she groaned as she walked away, waving him off, "I'll leave you to your books and I'll take your role as the 'vomiter'."

"No wait..." _And now we're back on track. Time to reel him in._

Without a backwards glance or even a change of pace, the squirrelmaid continued to saunter down the hall. "Don't worry about it Tark. You're obviously too busy to do this. Me and Melo wil cope without ya!" she said with a nonchalant tone.

"I didn't say I was too busy!" And now, his voice had a note of desparation and he'd completely forgotten of the discussion beforehand.

"No, no. It's fine," she trilled. "Go ahead and read your books by the candle light. Just ignore us. We're just a bother to you anyways. I understand." She grinned secretly as she heard his pawsteps trailing after her.

"But I want to be a part of this plan!" he whined. "Why do you guys always keep trying to get rid of me?" Rolling her eyes in an exaggerated fashion, she turned around, a paw hinged on her hips.

"But I thought you didn't want to be a part of this? You didn't look like you thought it was fun," she said innocently.

"But I do! Come on Sarrow. Please?" _I practically have him eating out of my paws._

"Hm," she cupped her chin, as if contemplating his request. "All right," she finally answered, her tone exasperated. At that, Tarka beamed as if _he_ was the one receiving the favor.

_Sucker!_

* * *

Clove laughed as she squirmed her way up the tree, sending showers of leaves down on the snow fox's head. Looking up, Keetch threw her an annoyed look as he brushed the green from his fur.

"Keetch! Keetch! Look'it! Look'it!" she shouted down to him as she gripped a branch, bouncing her legs down on a lower bough. She was high up, free to do whatever she wanted.

"Keetch looks so small up here!"

"Get down!" he ordered as he crossed his arms. "You're going to fall down and break your neck. I can't heal broken necks."

"Yes Keetch," she said obediently, scrambling down the tree. It was a little more difficult coming down. It was dark, and the fact that looking downward made her dizzy didn't help much. Her arms embracing the rough tree trunk, she would lower a leg carefully, always feeling for something firm before stepping down. She shut her eyes as she did this, wondering how much it would hurt to break her neck. Would she have to walk around with a bent neck all the time? Would it ever get so crooked that she'd have to see the world upside-down for the rest of her life?

Finally, she felt the loose dirt and twigs shift under her toes and she released her hold on the tree, letting herself half-stumble back to the ground.

"Keetch, there isn't any food in that tree," she said, looking up. "No pears or peaches or acorns or nothin'."

"It's a elm tree. They really don't have any fruits."

"Really? But it looks like the others..." she mused, putting a claw up to her lip. Keetch picked up a leaf that was on the ground.

"See this?" he said, pointing at it and running his paws through the shape. It was like a piece of paper, cut into its perfect figure by a wonderfully precise edge. "Every tree has a different-shaped leaf. This is an elm leaf."

"Oh," she murmered, lost in thought as she studied it.

"Keetch, the trees don't smell pretty."

"What?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Flowers smell pretty. Shouldn't trees smell much much more?"

"But," he paused, "Trees don't smell like anything... except for pines. Those smell like sap."

"But aren't trees giant flowers?" she pressed. Keetch exhaled a frustrated breath.

"No, they're not giant flowers. They're something else entirely."

"Then what are they?"

"They're just trees. They aren't anything else."

"Really?"

"Really." There was a note of finality in his voice.

Spinning its stem in between her fingers, she sat down near the hissing campfire, scootching close to breathe in the warmth. It was quiet between them again and Clove wanted to break the disgruntled silence. But what should she ask? Curiously, she looked up at the seer, watching him as he stared listlessly into the flames. But seeing him so peaceful made her think twice about disturbing him further.

But then he shifted his arm and something glinted gold and bronze right in front of her eyes, the orange glow reflecting off the metal band fastened on his wrist. _What's that?_ That question triggered a memory- him talking to her, giving her the freedom to ask questions. _Yes, Clove was almost going to ask about that... _And she was going to ask something else, she remembered that much. Maybe she should ask after all?

"Keetch, what's that?"

"Huh? What's what?"

"What's that?"

"What?"

"_That_," she repeated, jabbing a finger at its direction.

"Oh, you mean this." He held up his shackled wrist, letting the cold metal catch in the firelight.

"That one," she nodded eagerly.

_Well, I suppose it's one of your better questions_, he thought to himself._ It's much more interesting than your questions about flowers and trees._

"It's a shackle," he replied simply.

"What's it do?"

Keetch sighed, and at first, Clove thought he wasn't going to answer that question. He just drew his knees up to his chest and prodded their small campfire with a stick, whirling the embers about and making them flutter into the air before they disappeared into the night.

"It makes you a slave." Clove gaped at him, her eyes flicking between his wrist and his face.

"K-keetch is a slave too?"

"_Was_ a slave," he said pointedly, "And you're not a slave either. I've already freed you."

"So..." she furrowed her eyebrows, "Keetch used to be a slave too?" He nodded quietly, preferring to keep his eyes on the comforting flames.

"Really?" she gasped, scootching closer to him as if she could barely hear him from across the fire. "For how long?"

"Just for a little while," he said with a note of finality, hoping that she would understand that it wasn't a subject he was quite comfortable with.

"What did Masters make Keetch do?" She grabbed his arm, inspecting it closely. "Hm? Keetch doesn't have any cuts." He yanked it back and propped it on his knee, busying himself with the fire.

"What did Keetch do?" she asked softly, finally understanding that it was a painful spot she was treading on. He looked up from his "work", his eyes gleaming gold.

"Rowing oars in a boat from dawn 'til dusk."

"Oh. Keetch, what's a _butt_?"

"_Boat_," he corrected. "It's something made of wood that floats on water so that other beasts can cross the oceans."

"Oceans? What's that, what's that? It's such a pretty word!" _Oh, why with all the questions?_

"Oceans are like big salty lakes that..." he paused, thinking his description through, "That are really really big. There. Done."

"Will Clove ever see it?" her eyes sparkled at the question.

"Maybe someday, but it's far far away."

"Keetch will take Clove along to see it, right?"

"I'm not sure. Sometimes even _I'm_ not sure where we're going..."

He lay down, his head resting on his paws. He wanted to rest now, to be alone to his thoughts. And of all things, he liked to think about Redwall, envision his return. He would arrive there soon, after all. Would they remember him after all this time? He imagined himself knocking on the giant oaken doors, watching them creak open as familiar faces smiled and greeted him. Tarka and the ink all over his paws, Sister Wayrin and her gentle smile, Skipper with the... _hm, with the suspicious glare? _But no matter, he would be sure not to give that otter a reason to hate him. After all, Clove would be there to give him support. But just thinking about it, he also felt his stomach flutter around as if there was a horde of butterflies bouncing around inside. _Would they really be happy to see me?_

"Keetch?"

He cracked an eyelid open. "Hm?"

"Who set Keetch free?"

"What do you mean?" he asked, stifling a yawn.

"Keetch set Clove free, so who set Keetch free?"

"Actually, I set myself free," he answered her, staring up at the starry sky, "Me and somebeast else."

"Who?"

"... I don't want to answer that question." Clove's ears drooped slightly, her face looking a little crestfallen, and at one point, Keetch was thinking that she was going to break into tears. But then her eyes brightened again and she smiled at him. _I wonder why she's always so happy all the time?_

"Did Keetch like his master like Clove likes Keetch?"

"No," he scoffed, remembering Captain Skeel and all his cruel malice.

"Was Keetch's master mean?" she asked again, kneeling over him and blocking his view.

"The worst."

"Even worser than Old Master Grack?" she asked, covering her mouth with her paws in horror.

"About the same," he shrugged.

"Hm," she tilted her head to the side, ready to abandon the question. But then she felt a spark flare in her memory, the thoughts emboldening itself in her mind. _Clove remembers now. Clove was going to ask Keetch about that word Keetch said in the nightmare. What was it? Brood, Brag, Brains, Barf? _She was sure it was that.

"Keetch, what's a Barf?"

"I don't know." There wasn't a single sign of recognition in his eyes.

"Maybe Clove's asking the wrong question," she explained, "It was a name Keetch said in the nightmare... Brog... Brand... Brick... _Brink_..." His eyes widened in surprise at the question and he swore that his heart skipped a beat. He sat up immediately, startling the little rabbit.

"Wha...?" he breathed.

"Keetch doesn't want to answer?" she gasped, hurriedly apologizing. "Sorry Keetch, sorry! Clove didn't mean to ask."

"How did you know that name?" he seized her shoulder firmly, pulling her close. "_How_?"

"Wait!" she winced, "Keetch promised Clove he wouldn't hurt her!"

"But _how_?" he continued, gravity in every syllable, "How do you know that name?"

"Keetch..." she shut one eye as she tried to shrink away, "Keetch said it in a nightmare."

"The... nightmare?" The seer sighed heavily, releasing her before he flopped back down on his back, his arms outstretched beside him.

"Keetch," Clove addressed him in a quiet voice, "Did Clove upset Keetch?"

"It's alright," he reassured her, suddenly realizing that the fire had doused down to a glowing patch of ember. _No wonder why the world suddenly feels so cold._ "I just don't want to talk about that either." He sighed again as he unfastened his cloak and pulled it over his body, curling up on his side.

"Clove can take the first watch," she volunteered. But he just nodded and stayed quiet, his mind tossing and turning like the waves in a storm. _I wonder where he is? Does he think about me? Does he still hate me? Would I ever see him again? No, perhaps not. He's probably half a world away from Mossflower by now, maybe back at his home and family. And me? Why would he want to see me all over again? He still hates me, I'm sure._ He curled up tighter into a ball, flattening his ears against his head.

_That dream... I thought at one point that it was real, that I was there when he was wounded and had a second chance. I could've saved him and none of this would've happened. I didn't run away and leave him to die. I had a chance to change my moment of betrayal- erase it completely. Even if I died trying, he wouldn't have hated me like he does now. I wonder... what would've changed if I saved him instead? Would I still have suffered the bitter loneliness?_

"Keetch?"

"_Now _what?" His voice had an edge of impatience to it.

"Can Clove sit next to Keetch?"

"If you must," he sighed, pulling his cloak over his head.

"Yaaaay!" He could picture her grinning that little gap-toothed smile of hers. And then he suddenly felt a tug on his cloak as she wrapped herself in it as well. _She's getting bolder every day._ He almost smiled at the thought.

* * *

Elsewhere, a blazing fire was surrounded by a large group of otters, all of them shouting and joking in their naturally playful manners. It wasn't really normal for otters to have a "night picnic" as they liked to call it, but when the weather was so good, they preferred to spend their time outdoors amongst each other. Oftentimes, they preoccupied by telling old fishtales to one another, others by singing deep-throated songs, holding drinking games, taking bets, the usual otterish activities. And sitting by the fire with them all was Brink, lost in the crowd.

He smiled at the otters that waved him over, but shook his head. His intolerance to all things spicy sometimes became the punch-line of a joke, after all. And besides, even if he was quite a talented drinker, he didn't want to experience another hang-over again. He almost groaned out loud at the memory.

"Brink! Hey Brink!" he looked up to see Rosco holding up a mug of frothing ale, watering the grass in the salute. The jovial otter approached him, a foolish grin pasted on his face.

"C'mon! Join th' drinkin'!" he hiccupped. "Drinks all 'round!"

"I thought Skipper banned you from getting drunk," Brink replied, allowing himself a wry smile.

"Skip does'n'know _nuthin'_," Rosco replied in slurred speech, gulping down another swig. Brink rolled his eyes, shoving the otter to the side good-naturedly.

"Tell y'what, Brink me ol' mate," he sighed as he rudely wedged himself between Brink and some other otters. "One o' thes days, you're not gonna be such a grump and you'd be as happy as I am!"

"Like when?" His voice was more bored than curious.

"When you fall in love." The sea otter could only roll his eyes at his drunken companion. "You'll find the perfect one soon enough!"

"Are you still talking about Jolin?" Brink asked in a stretched voice.

"She loves ya, y'know," Rosco mentioned before erupting in a large belch. Brink only wrinkled his nose in distaste, turning away from the pungent stench of beer and hotroot. Grumbling, he propped his chin on his knuckles, leaning forward in a sullen pose. _I wish he'd just stop playing matchmaker. It's _him_ getting engaged. Not me._

"Somethin's on your mind," Rosco winked, speaking in a sing-song voice, "C'mon tell me what's on yer mind." The unfortunate sea otter forced himself to ignore the annoyance, trying to focus his mind on other matters, though Rosco wouldn't let him.

"C'mon. _C'mon_," he whined as he elbowed him roughly in the ribcage.

"Will you _stop it_?!" the sea otter snapped, pushing his arm away. "You're too drunk t'listen anyways!"

"You can tell me anythin'," he urged before leaning over to whisper in his ear. "Is it about Jolin?"

"No..." Brink scowled before his voice softened, "... a little..."

"Lady troubles, eh?" Brink found Rosco's grin to be even more cretinous than usual. "Tell me all about 'em!"

"I don't think so."

"Are you sayin' ye can't _trust_ me?" Rosco set up a look of exaggerated hurt. For some reason, no matter how hard he fought the urge, Brink couldn't help but smile.

"Well..." he sucked the air in through his teeth as he thought it over. "It's just that everybeast knows that Jolin is... attracted to me."

"Mm-hmmm..."

"And she's really nice to me and I like her back but..."

"Go on..." Rosco nodded sagely.

"But I don't think I like her back the way she likes me. We're just friends... and..."

"Keep talkin'..."

"For _crying out loud_, will you stop interruptin' me?!" With that, Brink gave him a quick punch in the arm. It was meant to hurt a little, but Rosco just laughed it off heartily while he rubbed the "wound".

"Hahahahaha... Alright, alright. That was just encouragement, though. I'll be quiet now."

"Hmph!" Brink gave him a final glare before he calmed himself and continued in a quiet voice, in case anybeast was eavesdropping, though it was doubtful that anybeast would be able to hear him past the ruckus. "As I was saying, I really want to tell her that I only like her as a friend, but I'm afraid that I'll break her heart. What should I do?"

Rosco leaned backward, stroking his chin thoughtfully, contemplating a solution while his free paw tilted the mug over his mouth. Brink almost groaned in his moment of utter despair.

_And of all beasts, I'm getting advice from_ him_..._

"Well, you should jus' give it time," his friend replied. "You'll be surprised how things can change between two beasts. Love doesn't hit off right away, y'know."

"I know it doesn't," he rolled his eyes. "And it's been _two seasons_ since we've met. That's a long time to get to know somebeast."

"Well Brink," the river otter answered, "It's been quite a while, true, but you've never actually gone out of your way to get to really know her. Maybe if you knew her more, you'd begin to grow closer." Brink only grumbled at the idea, shuffling his footpaws nervously with discomfort.

"And tell ya what," Rosco leaned closer, "I know me baby sister, and she's a lot tougher'n she looks. She'll be sad, but she'd want ye to be honest."

"I guess so..." Sensing Brink's obvious uncertainty, Rosco threw an arm around Brink's neck, deciding to assuage his worries.

"Between you and me," he began, "It wasn't 'Love at First Sight' when Brook an' I were little tykes." At the sight of Brink raising an eyebrow, the otter broke into a short bark of laughter. "But of course, you wouldn't suspect that right now."

"Rosco," a sweet voice called as he was suddenly tugged up onto his footpaws and into the arms of a pretty ottermaid. "You said you were going t'dance with me today."

Brink gave a mocking smile as he waved the drunken otter off as he was forced to whirl around with his future bride. _Heh, she's the perfect one for him. Paws down, she's the best balance of patience and good-humor in the entire holt. In fact, I think she's the only_ _beast that _laughs_ at his jokes._

With that thought, he walked up to the tables set with all manners of food: roasted apples, baked potatoes, grilled trout, and last but not least, shrimp'n'hotroot soup. _Ah yes, what would we ever do without this poisonous concoction?_ They weren't exciting or exquisite food, but they did have their simple charms, and a lot of them were ancient family recipes.

Bustling through the crowd, he picked up a plate and took a humble buttered breadroll and baked potato for himself. He stuffed the breadroll in his mouth, feeling the butter melt on his tongue. _Hm, good stuff._ He was about to pick up another when somebeast grabbed his arm and yanked him out of the crowd.

"Brink!" the culprit shouted. _Don't touch me,_ the otter tried to say, but he only managed to choke back at the bread lodged in his throat. He sputtered a bit, coughing lightly into his fist, sending out puffs and sprays of breadcrumbs. When his throat seemed soothed enough, he looked up sharply, wanting to give the offender a piece of his mind. But instead of a full-blown argument, though, he found himself looking into a large set of familiar brown eyes.

"Care to dance?" Jolin asked invitingly, her paws still holding on to the crook of his arm.

"What..." he rasped as he finally swallowed the lump of bread down, "... ye mean right _now_?"

"Of course," she smiled.

"But I'm... eating," he raised his plate of food as evidence for his claim, but she simply yanked it out of his paws and set it on the table.

"Just dance a little?"

"Uh..." he looked back at his abandoned plate, then at the sea of faces, and then back at her. _Where's a distraction when I need one?_

"C'mon. _Pleeeease?_" Playfully, she tugged a little harder on his arm as she batted her eyes frivolously. _She doesn't look like her brother (thankfully), but persuasion definately runs in the family._

"Just one dance," he swallowed dryly as she led him away from the delicious scent of food and into the spacious realm of light and laughter. The huge fire sizzled and crackled into the air, an uncomfortable warmth eminating from it as she turned around to face him, a perfectly white smile on her face.

Somewhere, somebeast was playing wildly at a violin, churning the atmosphere with the high-pitched noise. Brink had an urge to smash the wooden instrument as his partner began swinging him around and around, matching the unmanagable pace. The world seemed to zip by him, from the glarish light of fire, to the blur of grinning faces, and back to the fire again, repeating over and over and over..

Brink struggled with his teetering balance, feeling himself being yanked around this way and that, nearly tripping over his tail countless times. For the most part, it was Jolin dancing while he just allowed her to pull him along, learning to lift his arm high as she twirled freely before returning to his grasp each time. The whole nightmarish experience continued, the repetitive blurred scenes passing through his vision, Jolin's gleeful laughter bubbling from her mouth, the never-ending music roiling about in the air as the violin bow slammed away to the beat of madness.

And just when Brink thought he was going to throw himself out of this torture, the dance finally ended and the other dancers began clapping and whistling for an encore. _Oh for the love of... please no more..._ He heard Jolin's breathless laugh, and then suddenly, she was leaning against him, dizzy from all the excitement.

"That was so much fun," she giggled, seeming almost drunk. Brink felt his cheeks burn with a reddish palor, and he leaned back, completely caught off guard. He put his paws on her shoulders, attempting to push her off before he hesitated. And then he opened his mouth, just to excuse himself when Jolin interrupted him with much enthusiasm.

"Oh good, let's wind down with a slow song," she beamed as she grabbed his right paw, leading him around in lazy circles. The new song was certainly a better choice of music than that last nightmare. At least, it was drawling enough that he could actually follow the steps the right way. He just stared at his footpaws nervously as the languid waltz continued, making sure to match every step with hers.

"Have you ever danced like this before?" she inquired politely, the elegence of the music seeping into her mood.

"I don't dance."

"You mean this is your first time dancing?"

"Definately the first time dancing with a partner," he answered curtly. She giggled girlishly, making Brink feel even more uncomfortable. He looked off to the side, not bearing to look at her. _Maybe if I told her about just being friends now? She's in a perfectly good mood... _

"Jolin..." he began.

"Hm?"

"Can I ask you something?"

"Of course you can," she grinned, "Is it about the journey?"

"Huh?"

"I've already started packing," she continued happily. "It's going to be so exciting, seeing the world."

"Oh," he replied uncertainly, before he remembered something crucial. "What about Skipper? Isn't he worried about you leaving and all?" Her smile wavered for a second, but it recovered just as quickly as it went.

"He's taking it pretty hard, but he'll get used to it," she said softly. "He just needs some time is all."

"You sure?" he asked, unconsciously stepping in perfect timing to the flowing music, "I mean, your uncle doesn't seem to be the type to change his mind."

"I'm just a stubborn as he is," she said sweetly. _Huh, and maybe that's true. I mean, he has always had a soft spot for Jolin. He might just let her get what she wants, just so she doesn't cry._

"He'll be sad to see you go, wouldn't he? When Tarka left to live at Redwall, he seemed kind of down."

"That was just for a while," she averted her eyes, but then she perked up again. "But he still has Rosco, at least."

"I guess so," the sea otter mumbled, defeated. _If I tell her the truth now, it might just break her heart. Oh, I don't think I can handle tears- especially from her. Maybe I'll tell her when I'm completely certain._

He flicked his eyes to the side, unwilling to look straight at her while he continued blushing as he did. He saw the Rosco laughing along with Brook, and then he saw a group of otters banding together in a raucous song, and then...

... then there was Skipper, a dark thunderous cloud hanging behind his face. Without knowing why, Brink felt a rock in his throat and swallowed it slowly. Usually the burly otter was full of laughter and good charms, but not today. Instead, he just crossed his arms, his eyes sullen as he stared out into the crowd. And then he saw the otter's gaze settle on him for just a second and Brink instinctively lowered his gaze.

_I wonder why he seems so down?_

He jerked his head back up, looking back at the spot where the otter was standing, but he was already shouldering his way past the joyous crowd.

_I have a bad feeling about things..._

* * *

**Hm, so Tarka is having an ominous gut feeling? And what did you think about Sarrow's flashback? Melo was quite a brat back then, but it seems that things have gotten a lot better between them. If you're confused about Tarka's past, look back at Chapter... 24? It was titled "Ghost of a Memory". If you don't remember, it's okay. It's been a while. Just remember that he saw his own parents killed by vermin and he was about to be killed himself until a certain wolf intervened and unintentionally saved his life (and spared it). I guess the traumatic moment would make him mute and anorexic for a while. :(**

**And Clove is cute as always... And yes, I did steal a Finding Nemo joke. :P If anyone has any good ideas about what she should ask, feel free to suggest it. It's always funny to hear what childish thing she has to say next. :D**

**And Brink dancing? Interesting what he'd be able to tolerate for a pretty face. ;) This was my favorite part to write in the entire chapter and I kind of pictured part of the main theme from Howl's Moving Castle (anime) during the waltz. Rosco's pretty fun to joke with, since he's such great comedic relief whenever he's around Brink. And I suppose I showed some of Brink's humor in this chapter. Hmmmm... and just is Skipper so mad about I wonder? Any guesses?**

**And on a side note, Rosco is kind of based off of Rocky Rickaby in the Lackadaisy webcomic (my fave webcomic of all time). If you like cats, humor, gunfights, and anthropomorphic stuff, go to www(dot)lackadaisycats(dot)com. I'm beginning to wonder if any of you guys ever heard about it? Just curious.**

**So what did you think about this chapter? Love it? Hate it? Don't care? Please tell me what you think by REVIEWing. I really appreciate any kind of suggestions, ideas, constructive criticism, corrections, etc. Seriously, I practically live off your reviews. :D**

**Next Chapter (subject to change): And the Gears of Fate Finally Turn**


	41. Gathering Storm

**I know I promised to name this chapter "And the Gears of Fate Finally Turn", but I decided that it would be more fitting for another chapter in the future. Instead, I've changed this one to "Gathering Storm". **

**Special thans to all who reviewed over the week: Fwirl of Redwall, Jarrtail, Foeseeker, Adderstar of Valorclan, Sanfrasm, SilverZeo, Awsomewriter123, Persarr, Mangahottie740, Dunedain Ranger of the North, SnuffSnuff, and Martin te Warrior. Thanks a bunch you guys. ^^**

**Oh, and before I forget, this chapter has quite a bit of foreshadowing here and there so keep an eye out.**

**Q and A**

**Foeseeker: Hm, you're right. Tarka does remind me of Vian. They were both misunderstood, somewhat abused, had their lives ruined by vermin, etc. etc. By the way, update that story ASAP, you hear me?! XD**

**Adderstar of Valorclan: Yeah, I always thought that Veil wasn't completely evil. He had some good in him but I think the Redwallers couldn't help but be discriminatory at times and that screwed his chances. Anyways, Melo really was a jerk and I'm not really defending him, though I think he's had some emotional scarring due to his dad's death and stuff. Anyways, I really wouldn't say Melo was too racist, as he did seem to accept Keetch better than Skipper in previous chapters. Though, he can be kind of biased. **

**SnuffSnuff: I know. I kinda noticed how my story has been expanding/straying from the original plot. When I started this fic, it was a completely friendshippy ending at Chapter 15 or so. Now... it's a different story. Don't worry, things should pick back up to speed when certain things happen soon. Very soon. :)**

**Martin the Warrior: You do ask good questions and give good suggestions. :D I've taken them into consideration and I think I'll have that stuff come up soon. Thanks. :)**

* * *

**Gathering Storm**

* * *

The stars were sparkling brilliantly in their salute to the moon, and the air was crisp and clear. It was a beautiful night to behold and Keetch was enjoying the good weather as he leaned against a tree. However, he really did wish that his little companion was less talkative. Very rarely did she ever run out of questions and it was a struggle to keep himself from snapping at her, though he always managed in the end. After all, he learned three very useful words that made the questions fly by the quickest.

"Keetch, why do clouds stay so high in the sky?"

"I don't know."

"What is the moon made of? Is it a giant rock that got stuck in the sky?"

"I don't know."

"What about the sun? Is it made of fire?"

"I don't know."

"How do they stay up there? Why do they keep moving? Where do they go?"

"I don't know."

"Why is the moon white?"

"I don't know."

"Keetch's fur used to be white!" she suddenly exclaimed, "What happened to Keetch's poofy-fluffy white fur? Did it get burned up and go brown?"

"What?" _Poofy?_ _Fluffy white fur? It's thick, _not_ fluffy. _"No it didn't get all burned up!" he snorted.

"Then did it melt off?" she asked, staring at his mottled fur. "Or maybe Keetch is sick?" _That's what everybeast thought before. What was that name we came up with when Brink and I got captured by toads...? White Fur Disease?_

"No. I'm a snow fox. I'm different from all the other ones. In the winter, my fur is white and thick to keep me warm. In the summer, it becomes brown."

"Oh. Clove wishes she had pretty magic fur and..." she stopped halfway, staring intently at something to her right.

"Keetch," she pointed excitedly at a tiny greenish-yellow glow. "What's that, what's that?"

"Firefly."

"Can Clove touch it?"

"Gently."

"Will it sting like that bee?"

"No." Gingerly, the little rabbit reached out a shaky finger. She clenched her eyes in anticipation, touching the little thing with the tip of her claw. Seeing that no harm came to her, she grinned and picked it up delicately, cupping it in her palm as she ran up to her guardian.

"Look Keetch! Look! Clove has the firebug!"

"Fire_fly_," he corrected, though she didn't seem to notice.

"Can it start fires, Keetch?" she asked, peeking in through the little gaps in her fingers. Keetch noticed a faint glow from behind her hold.

"No, but it does glow up."

"How does it do that?"

"I don't know," he shrugged.

"Why is it called the firefly if it doesn't make fires?"

"I don't know."

"It's so pretty!" she gushed, jumping up and down in her excitement. Then her eyes went wide when she saw more of those pale lights flicker and float in the woods behind them. "Keetch! Keetch! There's more! Look!" And sure enough, the entire forest was blooming with those ghostly lights.

Keetch recalled the first time he'd ever seen them. There were no fireflies in the cold North and he never thought that anything like this was possible. He had thought they were just figments of his imagination, that he was going insane. Thankfully, that really wasn't the case, though Old Grack had cuffed him over the head for his ignorance.

"There are a lot of them in the summer," he stated to the little rabbit, rubbing his head absent-mindedly. He remembered the ancient vixen saying something about the fireflies, that they were spirits of the creatures of the woods or something like that. Or maybe it was more like they carried messages of the dead, giving them to the dreams of sleeping beasts? Or perhaps it was that they carried souls from the living to the Dark Forest? Either way, they had a certain eerieness to them that he didn't like, though he thought he remembered his mentor telling him they were a sign of good luck.

"Clove wants to catch more!" she exclaimed as she leapt about, unaware of the poor little captive being bustled about in the confines of her paws.

"Wait a minute." Without another word, he opened up his medicine case and sifted through the sparse contents. A couple bandages, some fresh herbs, a few bottles of ointments and potions, roots, some fruit, and finally...

"Here it is." He held up a relatively large clean jar. _This should keep her busy for a while._ Carefully, he pressed some small holes into the lid with his claws. It was a little harder than he anticipated, but he got the job done.

"What's that for, Keetch?" she asked, cocking her head sideways in confusion. He held the unlidded container up to her.

"Put it in." Clove looked uncertainly between the jar and her new pet, and then back at the jar. Keetch rolled his eyes.

"Collect a whole bunch of them in this jar." _And then I can have some peace and quiet to myself._

"Really?" she she asked, her eyes growing wide as he nodded. Carefully, she plopped her first catch into its new cage. "Thanks Keetch!" Without another word, she grabbed the jar from his paw and rushed off to capture more fireflies. Silently, he stoked up his fire, watching her from time to time as she ran to and fro, reaching out and grasping fireflies and dropping them in the jar as she laughed.

_I've actually grown quite fond of her..._

It really was quite a change. In the cave, he never spoke to her unless it was to command, and in the beginning of the journey, it was the same. Perhaps they were friends? Or perhaps they were their own dysfunctional family?

"Keetch!" she called out to him. He looked up and saw her running towards him, her face glowing brighter than the jar itself. "Look!" She held it in front of his face to behold all its glory.

"Quite a nice collection," he nodded, his tone bored. However, the rabbit didn't seem to notice as she beamed at the praise, hugging the jar to herself.

"Clove got lots and lots of 'em! Clove's got..." she grinned as she pressed a claw to the glass, "One... two... three... four... five.. six... seven... they keep moving... eight... nine... ten..." And then she trailed off. "More than ten," she finished abruptly as she handed it to him.

"Hm," Keetch mused, counting them mentally. It didn't take long. "Twenty-one."

"Twenty-one?" she gasped, her eyes widening in awe. "How did Keetch know? Keetch is the smartest!"

"Erm..." he felt a little embarrassed by the compliment, "Well actually, you learn that when you get older."

"Oh." He gave the fireflies back to her, amusement in his eyes as she marveled at them closely. And then, as if she was reminded of something, she looked up at the sky, scrutinizing it.

"Keetch?"

"Hm?"

"How did those fireflies get stuck up in the sky like that?" she asked, pointing upwards.

"I'm pretty sure those aren't fireflies," he responded. "Nobeast really knows what stars are made of or how they got up there. Some beasts believe that they're spirits of dead beasts that watch over the world."

"Like Grack?"

"I doubt she's looking out for us," he answered, feeling a bit uncomfortable with the thought. "Besides, I'm sure only goodbeasts go up there. Would anything evil ever look like those?"

"Hm," she replied thoughtfully as she lay down, staring up at the stunning stars with her paws clasped over her precious jar. "Can Keetch count the stars?" He shook his head.

"Too many to count."

"Even for Keetch?" She sounded surprised. _Does she really think I'm the Fountain of Knowledge or something?_

"Even for me," he replied, "Sometimes there are things in the world that nobeast could ever comprehend." A couple moments of peaceful silence resided until the little rabbit broke it again.

"Keetch, Grack said the same thing, except she said that seers can know everything."

"Well," he hesitated, wondering why she even remembered these things. "I guess she was lying. There are far more wonders and forces to the world that any mind can possibly understand."

"Oh," she stifled a sleepy yawn.

"Clove."

"Yes Keetch?"

_It's about time I started talking to her about this thing again. _"Do you remember what I told you about goodbeasts and vermin?"

"Yes. But Keetch is a goodbeast," she smiled, tilting her head to look up at him.

"I suppose so... anyways, the point is, we're going to be at Redwall soon. It's a giant place with lots of food and goodbeasts that will take care of you. I have a couple fr-," he cleared his throat, "I know some beasts there. Do you remember the story I told you to tell them? The one you're supposed to tell them if they asked?"

"Clove remembers! Um..." she put a finger to her lips as she dove deep into her memory before her ears flopped down in disappointment. "Uh... Clove forgot."

"Well, just remember to _never_ tell them about the cave or Grack or me being a seer," he said sternly. "_Never_." She nodded jerkily, emphasizing her understanding.

"Good. Secondly, if they ask you where you came from, tell them that you were a slave to a... a weasel, a stoat, and a rat. Remember that?"

"Weasel, stoat, rat..." she reiterated as she picked herself up to sit next to him, "Weasel, stoat, rat... Clove will remember!"

"Good. Keep remembering those three. And you were their slave for as long as you could remember... and... and then they beat you all the time and would use you as bait to lure unfortunate goodbeasts over. Remember that so far?" She nodded. "Good. And then... about a moon ago, I came up and pretended to join them and then I stabbed them in their sleep and took care of you. Now, pretend you're telling them that story, except make it convincing and sad, as if it really did happen to you."

And as it turned out, Clove had excellent memory and she passed the retelling with flying colors. When he asked her again, she retold her story with even more heart-rendering emotion and confidence.

When she was done with her rehearsal, she looked at him, grinning as if he was going to give her some reward, but he simply nodded and looked up at the sky. He seemed to have a longing look on his face.

"Keetch, how far away is this Redwall place?"

"Not far. Probably just a day away."

"Does that mean we won't be traveling together anymore?"

"Probably not," he replied.

"But Clove likes being with Keetch," she protested. "Clove loves Keetch..." she spread her arms as wide as they could go, checking if the length was sufficient before she continued, "Clove loves Keetch _more_ than this much." He raised an eyebrow, making her lower her arms nervously, feeling foolish all of a sudden.

"We'll still be together," he said reassuringly. "We'll stick together. We'll just be with other beasts instead of being all alone all the time."

"Awww. But Clove likes things this way," she pouted.

"You'll love being with the goodbeasts too."

"What's Redwall like, Keetch?"

"It's..." he scratched the back of his head, trying to recall what he knew from previous experiences. "It's a huge place made out of red bricks and it has a bunch of friendly creatures living there and it has lots and lots of good food."

"How much?"

"More than I can count," he promised. "And they're the most delicious food in the world. You'll like it there."

"When did Keetch go there?" she questioned, yawning.

"About two seasons ago," he replied, his voice a tad bit tight.

"Why did Keetch go there?"

"Because I was very badly hurt," he said, pointing at the scar just above the knee.

"Who hurt Keetch?"

"Vermin."

"... Oh...," she yawned as her eyes began to close. "Can Keetch tell Clove more about it?"

"Maybe next time." He drew his cloak up to her chin, a make-shift blanket. _But I don't think that chance would ever come._

---

The next morning was a dull one for them. The birds were quiet, and the sky was a dark grey color, the clouds blanketing the chilly atmosphere. And it didn't help either that Clove was a bit upset that the fireflies didn't seem to shine as brightly as they had the night before.

"Are Fireflies dead?" she asked as she shook the jar. "Strange. Fireflies are moving."

"They're busy resting," Keetch answered.

"Oh." She stopped sloshing the glass container around.

"Besides," he began, "I think you should let them go now."

"_What_?!" She looked so startled, he thought she would drop the jar and send it shattering in a shower of glass and insects. In fact, her little outburst startled him as well.

"Um..."

"Keetch wants Clove to let the fireflies _go_?" Her voice trembled as tears started welling up in her eyes.

"You have to," he urged, though from the way she reacted next, he was quite sure that he hadn't set the right tone of voice.

"Please Keetch!" she begged. "Clove will serve Keetch better! Promise! Clove will be very very good. Don't make Clove let Fireflies go!"

"But look at them," he said, pointing at her prisoners. "They're supposed to be free. They'll die if you keep them locked up like this."

"Fireflies won't," she declared. "Clove will take extra good care of Fireflies." He shook his head, adamantly crossing his arms over his chest.

"Would you rather have them _die_?" he asked sharply.

"... No," she said, averting her gaze, tears falling freely as her lower lip trembled. "Clove just wanted Fireflies to be with Clove..."

"Clove, sometimes you have to lose something to keep it safe," he said sagely, though he thought his voice sounded cold. "Do you understand?"

"Mm-hm," she nodded, sniffling as she rubbed her nose with a sleeve.

"So let them go." She did nothing, staying stubbornly silent. _She's defying me._ _Maybe I gave her a little too much freedom? _Maybe he should bring the authority back into his figure through force and fear? _Wait... no. Maybe I can still reason with her._

"Do you really care about them?" She nodded sullenly.

"Do you want them to die?" For some reason, he found his tone somewhat distant and flat. He watched as her eyes widened in shock as she shook her head furiously.

"Then remember this Clove, because it's important," he raised a claw in emphasis. "If anybeast truly cares about anything, he'll do whatever it takes to protect it- no matter what happens." She just stared at him with those wide eyes of hers.

"If you really care about those fireflies, you'd let them go even if you feel all lonely inside." Slowly, sadly, she nodded and uncapped the jar. Without a word, she watched as one by one, those precious fireflies abandoned her for their freedom. He could see how miserable it made her, and he couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt.

"They'll be happier this way," he said when the last one flew away. Clove just stood there, sniffling and wiping away her tears as the empty jar hung loosely from a paw.

And then she rushed to him, hugging his waist tight. It reminded him of how she did that when he came back to her. His broken ribs were on the verge of healing now, so thankfully, they hurt much less.

He stood still for a moment, trying to decide what to do at this awkward moment. Finally, he sighed as he gave her a tentative pat on the head. However, this seemed to have the opposite effect, as she tightened her vice grip, burying her face against his fur.

"Come on, we have to keep going. I want to get to Redwall by nightfall. You'll cheer up when you hear the bells and see the place." Still nodding, Clove detached herself from him, following him as he led the way down the path.

"Clove's fine," she said suddenly, her voice shrill. "Clove will be fine, just as long as Clove isn't _all_ alone. Clove's still got Keetch." He looked back at her, an oddly sympathetic look in his eyes.

"That's right," he said, motioning her forward as he looked up at the grey sky and pulled his hood over his head, "Now come on, we have to keep going. It looks like it's about to rain." Without another word, she wiped her eyes again and followed after him. _Finally, after two whole seasons, I'm coming back..._

It should've been a time to celebrate. Maybe there would have been a bit more cheer and joy in the air. But it wasn't. Not with those rainy clouds hanging over the atmosphere and the watchful pair of eyes hidden in the woods.

* * *

A storm was coming. Brink could feel it in his bones. It had been two days since he'd danced with Jolin and saw that angry look on the Skipper's face. At first, he was utterly confused about the sudden change in the cheerful otter, but he was a fool to not see the answer lying right in front of him. It was so awkward, how everybeast would get all quiet and stare at him whenever he entered the village after weaponry practice. It wasn't just the eyes that unnerved him, but the the messages those looks carried:

_Go away!_

_What happened?_

_I'm not speaking to you!_

_But why?_

_Trouble-maker!_

They were mixed looks of confusion and disgust. At first, he ignored them, preferring to think it was just his imagination, that he'd done nothing wrong. But that was a mistake. Everybeast just took his avoidance as a show of arrogance rather than shame. But shame for what? Well, _now_ he knew. Rosco had alerted him of that.

---

_"Brink," the otter had said in a strained voice, peeking into the dim hut to see his friend lazing in his bunk. "Brink, we have to talk about something." Puzzled, the sea otter sat up and stared back at his friend, wondering what was so important. Rosco approached him, an unusual look seriousness on his face. _Well, _Brink thought to himself, _Whatever he's feeling right now is only half of what I feel.

_"Brink, is it true that you promised Jolin that she would come with ye?" Rosco asked, his voice very heavy. The words came slowly, as if Brink was hearing them from underwater._

_"What...?"_

_"Skipper said that you promised her that you'd take 'er with you."_

_"Aye..." Brink swallowed down the rock lodged in his throat, realization dawning on him. "I... did."_

_"Do you have _any_ idea what ye were thinkin' when you said that?" Rosco asked incredulously, a hint of accusation in his voice._

_"B-but I just said..." _I sound so damn choked! It all makes sense now. It all makes sense. Damn, I'm so stupid! _Things really did make him look like the culprit, the "disturber of the peace"._

_"What were you thinking?" Rosco interjected. "Did you know that Skipper and Jolin are battling it out against each other because of what you said? Do you know what's gonna happen now?"_

_"But I just told her that as long as the Skipper allows it..."_

_"That's the thing, mate. That's what's goin' wrong. He's _never_ going to allow it! But she's so fixed on being with you that she won't give up until Skipper bends. They've been doing nothing but fight an' argue this whole time."_

_"Rosco. You've gotta believe me. I had no idea things were going to be this way. I had no idea Jolin had some notion to go rebellious like that! All I thought was that Skipper was going to say 'no' and that'll be the end of it! I knew he wouldn't allow it and she'd just accept it and_ leave me alone already_." Rosco just looked at him._

_"I mean," Brink continued, his voice a little shrill, "It was so awkward. What do you think I _should've_ said to her?! If I said no, she'd cry!"_

_"I don't know mate," Rosco sighed wearily, "But this is going terrible. They're both at odds with each other and it's very... stressful. The entire mood is spreading throughout the holt."_

_"Noticed that much," he muttered darkly. _

_"Well, we're going to have to think of what t'do now," Rosco said as he got up and hung at the exit. "Just make sure you side with Skipper though. Remember that." And then he left, closing the door behind him, leaving Brink in the darkness._

Just my luck. I was nice and now I get to pay for it. How did I even get myself in this mess? But most importantly, how do I get myself out?

---

Brink just lay in his bunk idly, wondering what to make of his current situation. His mother used to always joke about how handsome he was and what a lucky otter he'd make his wife while his little sister giggled as he blushed. He smirked at the sudden memory. _Well, if only Ma can see me now. Hunted down by a lovestruck ottermaid 'til her uncle gets jealous'n'protective and wants my head... alright, maybe not so dramatic. Hopefully._

_Ugh. It's all that Jolin's fault! Can't she just keep her mouth shut an' leave me alone? Just what does she see in me? I never once paid any special attention to her. What does she want from me? Is every force in the world out to ruin my life?_

The memory of the looks he'd been recieving made him shudder. _And now I'm an outcast... well, more so. I mean, they didn't like me already as it was. They stayed away from me. I just figured I was just too quiet to them. I was fine. And now it's something personal._ He rolled miserably in his bunk. He imagined punching that ottermaid in the face and he was surprised by how the thought relieved some of the stress weighing down on him.

Suddenly, his ears pricked at a distant, muffled voice from beyond his hut. _Jolin's voice._ _She sounds angry._ Then another voice joined in, twice as thunderous. _And that's Skipper. He sounds worse._

"... never... you... do whatever... right..." That was Jolin's voice again. He concentrated harder on the conversation, trying to catch more than brief snatches.

"... to do... charge... say... none of your..." _He sounds like nobeast I want to mess with._

With a moan, he stuffed a pillow against his head, drowning out the sounds. _They've already dragged me into this. Just as long as they don't talk to me. Just as long as Jolin doesn't open her big mouth and start talking too much about me. Maybe they can get along? Maybe they'll patch up their relationship. Maybe-_

"YOU'RE NOT MY FATHER! STOP ACTING LIKE YOU ARE!"

**BANG!** That was the sound of the door being slammed.

_Damn!_

He bet every otter in the holt heard that little outburst. What were they thinking now? _They probably think I did all of this on purpose. That I've been planning to elope with her or something. It's not like I actually thought she'd be so willing to come with me. I just wanted her to leave me alone. If I just flat-out said no, she'd cry and everybeast would've hated me anyway. Ugh... why is this so complicated?_

_Knock-knock_. Brink sat up, pushing his covers off of him as he stood up. "Come in." At the polite request, an otter poked his head in, seeming very uncomfortable.

"Gred, how are ye doin'?" Brink asked in a friendly tone, forcing a crooked smile.

"I've been better," he sniffed. "Skipper wants to see you in his cabin."

"Oh." It wasn't a statement of shock or fear or anything. Just a grim dead-pan response. The otter simply nodded and left, leaving the door ajar. Brink swallowed, feeling cold all of a sudden. _What am I going to say to Skipper? He sounded really mad..._

Skipper's cabin wasn't far at all, but the walk felt a mile long. Everybeast stared at him, giving him baleful looks as he passed them by. _Don't worry Brink,_ he told himself, lifting his chin indignantly. _Show no shame, show no fear. You didn't do anything wrong, so stop looking like it._ He found the walk to Skipper's place much easier then, returning the contemptious eyes with a defiant air. _It's not really my fault that there's tension here. I'm the victim._

And then he found himself in front of the door. Taking in a deep breath, he knocked. The wood produced a hollow sound from the impact of his knuckles and it seemed to echo.

"Come in Brink."

"Y-yessir." He had always respected the otter chieftain. They had always gotten along quite well. There was absolutely no reason for him to be unreasonable. _It's alright. I just have to be calm. Calm..._

The door shuddered open as he pushed it to the side. The inside of the simple cabin was humbly furnished, nothing hinting that the owner was an esteemed leader of any kind. Of all principles, Skipper Raller preferred the simple things, wanting nothing more than life's necessities: family, friends, food, and shelter.

Brink had been inside plenty of times, since Skipper left his door open to all friendly faces. His home usually had a warm and cozy feeling to it, a delicious smell of spiced cider hanging in the air. But today, though nothing had been changed, the place seemed chilled and grey. Nervous, the sea otter allowed the door to creak to a close, trapping him inside with the huge riverdog sitting at the dinner table.

"Sit down, Brink," Skipper said, nothing inviting in his voice. Skipper had said that to him plenty of times and Brink was always happy to oblige, but that was back when he was on his good side. Despite the torrent of troubles in Brink's mind, he managed to maintain his calm as he sat down on the other end of the table.

Skipper leaned in, his paws clasped together in a business-like manner. "I think we both know what we're about to discuss." Brink only nodded. The otter chieftain cleared his throat before he continued.

"Brink, I hope you know that Jolin is very precious to me," he said, his voice heavy as metal, "It's my responsibility as her Skipper, uncle, and foster father to make sure she stays safe at all times. I've been watching after her ever since her parents died of that plague twelve seasons ago and I know for a fact that when she's seldom rebellious, but when she is, she's just as stubborn as I am."

_That's exactly what Rosco told me._

"And," he continued, "She has her mind set on joining you on this journey to who-knows-where."

"Seafoam Isle," Brink interjected. Skipper gave him a brief reflective look, and then continued.

"Yes, your home. The thing is, it's far across the sea and I won't have Jolin so far away. She's only a girl. She has no idea what kind of dangers are out there."

_She's grown up. She can make her own decisions._ But Brink knew better than to say something like that. Instead, he just settled for a plain, standard nod.

"So," Skipper continued, "I bet you heard part of that ugly conversation I had with Jolin earlier." _If you could call it a "conversation". _

"Yessir."

"I can tell you, I don't enjoy these conflicts, but I've got to put my foot down when I need to," he said with a stiff shrug. "It's for Jolin's own good, after all. I know that you didn't mean for things to spiral away like this..." Brink nodded quickly. _Yes, yes. Exactly._

"... You probably just wanted to appease her, Brink. After all, everybeast knows that she wants _you, _not the journey," he leaned back, almost seeming to study him for a moment.

"Brink, tell me honestly," he said slowly, tilting his head, "Do you know about the feelings Jolin's had for ye?"

"Yes," came the terse answer.

"And did she ever confess her feelings to you? Did she ever tell you she... 'loves you'?"

"No sir. Well actually... she sorta... hinted it," he shrugged half-heartedly.

"And do you love her back? Share any mutual feelings at all?" _He doesn't really sound curious. Just cold._

"I don't love her- I," he winced, "I mean, I don't share the same feelings. We're just friends. It's like you said, I didn't have the heart to turn her down, is all. I didn't actually think she'd be this way. I just thought..." _I'm just spilling everything out._ He swallowed nervously before he continued the awkward conversation. "I haven't told her that. I just thought she would cry if I said no or if I said anything that would hurt her feelings. It's like you said, I was just trying to appease 'er."

"Ah, well," Skipper said, leaning forward once more, seeming somewhat satisfied. "Well, I can't stop you from staying, but I'm going to have to ask you not to do anything to support her decision."

"But..."

Skipper lifted his paw up for silence. "Don't worry. You don't have to say anything to her. I'll talk to her about this little misunderstanding while you just stay quiet." _Just as long as I don't have to face her, I suppose._ To be honest, he felt relief sweep over his doubts. After all, if Skipper could be alright with everything, everything else should probably settle soon.

"Alright," he nodded.

"Good," the big otter said, leaning back in his chair. "I'm glad we had this talk so we could clear things out and have a little understanding." Brink took that as a cue for him to leave.

"Good-bye then," he mumbled as he stood up and walked to the door, not bothering to look behind him. _I hope this whole matter gets cleared up before I leave. I want my last memories here to be happy-_

And just as he was about to reach for the knob, the door came to life and shoved open as another otter rushed in and nearly rammed himself into Brink. The sea otter jumped to the side, narrowly avoiding a head-on collision with Wade, the holt's scout. He was completely out of breath and he was saying something urgently, though Brink could hardly discern the words.

"Wha'...?"

There was a sound of a scooting chair behind him and in less than a second, Skipper Raller was standing by his side. He seemed to tower over them both as he listened to the panicked speech.

"Slow down, Wade," he said firmly. "Slow down and tell me wha happened."The otter nodded and took a deep and cleansing breath.

"Skip," he licked his lips, "I was just going down t'the stream to get the fishing nets 'cause, you know, the trouts are always out in the rain and everythin' and I was just reeling in the-"

"Just get to the point," Brink snapped. He didn't mean to sound so harsh, but he just couldn't take much of this any more. This problem was about more than just dinner.

_Vermin,_ Brink thought darkly, _Everyone knows it._ He didn't exactly know for sure why he suspected that. All he knew was that there was a heavy feeling in the pit of his stomach and a chill seeping into his spine. He swallowed nervously, his throat tightening.

"I saw it," Wade finally said, "It was a fox with a little rabbit as a prisoner! I swear it. I heard her crying and everything."

"How far away are they?"

"Not too far. Probably thirty minutes away from here by now." _Vermin? So close to here? This hasn't happened in seasons. And he's got a Dibbun with him. That can't be good... he'll probably use it as a hostage. And even if we agree with whatever terms he's got, he'll probably strangle the poor thing with its entrails anyways. There was only one option for vermin. _He squared his shoulders at the thought.

"Which direction are they in?" Skipper asked.

"On the path North of here," the scout said quickly.

"We should kill the damn creature," Brink snarled. _We can't trust it with a hostage. Things could go very wrong. _

"We'll ambush him, just to save us the trouble of false negotiations," Skipper said through clenched teeth, staring at a dagger gripped in his paw. "Nobeast gets killed by vermin while I'm still alive." He turned his attention to Wade. "Take me there."

Then he turned his eyes on Brink, who was eagerly awaiting his orders. "Brink, I want you to tell everybeast about what's goin' on. Everybeast is to go inside their homes while able-bodied young otters patrol the area for more dangers. While there's one, there ought to be twenty more of the scum."

"Stay behind?" Brink voiced, barely keeping his tone in check, "What do y'mean _stay behind_? I want to come fight. Somebeast else has to do that. I can _fight_. I practice with knives and weapons more than anybeast else in this holt. If anybeast should go with you, it's _me_."

Skipper just looked at him long and hard, as if thinking it over. At that moment, there was a feeling in Brink's gut, burrowing deeper and deeper while it gnawed at his insides. A familiar, hungry fiery feeling unfurling in his heart, one that made him clench his fists as pictures of his memory flashed in his mind. Blood. Pain. Loss.

"I hate vermin more than _anything_," he growled, his voice dripping with venom. "They took a lot from me in the past. My freedom, my peace of mind, my innocence, my friends. I mean to pay them back." Without much of a word, Skipper closed his eyes and nodded.

"Nobeast's stoppin' ye, Brink," he drawled, "Though, battle isn't for the young and inexperienced."

"I know, Skipper," Brink said grimly. "I'm young, but not inexperienced. Not with their kind, anyways." He didn't know if he should be happy or scared. He could feel his heart pounding away like a war drum, but it definately wasn't fear he was feeling. No. It felt more like an adrenaline rush. Yes. And he was excited for the confrontation, anticipating it eagerly. In a blink of an eye, he was striding out the door, longing for the feel of a hilt in his palm.

"And Brink," Skipper's voice boomed.

"Yessir?"

"Get ready as fast as you can. No time to lose."

"Yessir," Brink saluted. Never in his life did he feel more like a warrior. He was't some bright-eyed cub that was new to the world and its harsh laws. He was trained now. Trained to throw with deadly precision, dodge with ease, attack with graceful agility, strike with direction and force, and most of all, battle with tooth and claw.

The door to his hut was shoved open, the whole house shuddering from the force. _I'm about to even the scores a bit now._

He grabbed a sling in his paw. _These were the beasts that enslaved me when I was so young and naive._

He ran his finger along the edge of a dagger, watching a small line of crimson form on his skin. _These are the beasts that tortured and beat me. They tried to kill me._

His weapons were gleaming, just begging to shed blood and slice through flesh. _These beasts never spared those slaves, those innocents. Monsters never spare anybeast._

He thrust some thowing knives through his belt. _I'm ready for anything in my way now._

A stern face stared back at him from the reflection of the metal of his sword. _I've grown up._

There were scars on his right shoulder and his side. Angry, wickedly curved lines that snaked around his body. There was a delicious feeling pulsing in his veins_. Hate. _The feeling was bubbling inside him now, feeding his thirst.

He rushed out the door to join Skipper and Wade with two other otters. There was an ominous air hanging in this grim silence.

_I was born to avenge._

_I was born to kill._

* * *

**Cliffhanger! Muahahahahahahahaaaaaaaaa! Okay, I'm done.**

**Keetch's part, I thought was a little full of mush maybe. I don't know if I'm over-doing it or not. I just figured that he's nicer, but still a bit prickly.**

**I hope I got the whole hatred bit down for Brink. Now we know the old hot-headed sea otter was somewhere in there. He kind of lost a bunch of his old ways while he stayed for 2 seasons, but now he's reawakened (and very very angry). He's been keeping his frustration and hate bottled up for too long, I suppose. I guess he has a very lasting opinion of vermin, except for Keetch, though. And speaking of which, I wonder what his reaction will be when he finally sees him after so long?**

**And guess what? All you winners of the contest don't have to wait so long to find out what happens. I'm going to send you all DocX invitations so I can give you the next chapter, "Where Roads Diverge". I'm done with it, but still working out some kinks and improving it a bit. So, Zinachu, Fwirl of Redwall, and Awsomewriter123, you'll get your chapter on Thursday or Friday. Everyone else sees it on Sunday. And guess what day February 22nd is? Go on, guess. :)**

**So, please please please REVIEW! This is where the story picks up! C'mon! You know the drill!**


	42. Where Their Roads Meet

**GAH! I was going to upload the chapter and everything, honest, but unfortunately Fanfiction wouldn't let me on. Oh well, back to the story.**

**All right. Now here's the chapter everyone's been waiting for. Can you believe that it's been half a year since that moment where Keetch left Brink to die? Wow, I really let this story drag. I looked back at my original plans and I nearly gagged when I saw that they were supposed to have met up way back in Chapter 35. Heheh... guess I kind of let things linger a bit. ^^;**

**So, I've finally broken the 400-review barrier and I really didn't expect it this soon at all. Well, in case you haven't noticed, this is the 1-year anniversary since I started this fic. In other words, it's its birthday. :D**

**I honestly didn't think I'd hold on to this story for so long. I was just bored one year ago, wrote something random, and things just grew on me from there on out. I almost gave up entirely on this story around Chapter 4. Anyways, enough history, and now for some acknowledgements.**

**Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed over the last week: Dunedain Ranger of the North, Fwirl of Redwall, Persarr, Sanfrasm, Martin the Warrior, Foeseeker, Firehawk43, Zinachu, Mangahottie740, Jarrtail, DPBCLover, Awsomewriter123, Red Squirrel Writer, and Lightwatcher.**

**Questions and Answers (for those of you who care to read this)**

**Persarr: Well, the Greymorg troops are coming (though, they seem to be going at a snail's pace :P ) so don't worry. I just have to get to the point where... never mind, you'll find out eventually. :)**

**Martin the Warrior: Thanks for your review and for your suggestions. I put some of those into Clove's questions.**

**Jarrtail: Yeah, you definately do have a point with all the super-cuddly-mushy Keetch-Clove interactions. I was kind of worried about that, but luckily, maybe this chapter's dialogue would be just a little bit revealing and actiony. Yes? No? Maybe so? **

**Red Squirrel Writer: *sigh* I was aware of Brink's I-don't-feel-like-doing-anything-ness and here I thought I was going to get away with all of that. Well, you definately make a good point with Brink's sudden emoness, but it's just one of those things where I just don't know what to do with a character because there's nothing going on at Redwall, hence there's nothing interesting going on in Brink's life... well, nothing fun to do, anyways. And as for him being a little too mellow, he is quite snappish from time to time (though I haven't given him enough spotlight to show it _ ), but he's just more respectful to Skipper (and he doesn't respect many beasts) and I guess at one point he was just plain scared of him in that last chapter. I just didn't want to make him seem like the stereotypical hot-head that has no fear. He rather reacts differently towards different beasts. **

**And as for Brink's sudden burst of hatred, he basically funnels all his blame, regrets, uncertainty, frustration, doubt, etc. into that one very poisonous emotion. Not a very healthy way to deal with pain. Don't worry though, I'll definately give Brink more spotlight from here on out. It's not just going to be mainly about Keetch any more.**

**Lightwatcher: Well, Brink doesn't have the bloodwrath, if that's what everyone's wondering about. Rather, he just funnels all his feelings of doubt, confusion, and frustration into hatred. And you're right about the fact that Brink has a soft spot for Keetch, though he still thinks that generally, vermin are evil and have no right to live. So, Keetch is pretty much the exception.**

**Alright everyone, enjoy the chapter. Hope it's worth the hype. **

* * *

**Where Their Roads Meet**

* * *

Clove pressed herself closer to Keetch's side, sheltered under the shared cloak. She grimaced as her foot sunk down into the squelching mud, the brown ooze threatening to suck her under. She grunted as she pulled her footpaw free, finding herself being left behind all of a sudden. It didn't help that Keetch was constantly on the move, seeming restless and anxious for some reason unknown to her.

He would plow forward without so much as a sign of tiring, his eyes set forward in a determined stare, almost seeming to challenge the road ahead of them- daring it to do its worst. At least, that's what Clove had thought, since the trek had been tougher lately.

The drizzling rain continued to splatter against the rabbit's face as she plodded along. It felt cold and it left her fur sticking uncomfortably to her skin, blinding her so that everything seemed to blur together in some watery mess. But those were only minor annoyances to her. What she hated most was that ominous rumble that resounded from everwhere.

_Thunder_, Keetch had called it.

It was deep and gutteral, sounding like some hungry, giant creature seeking food. She had heard them before in the cave, but she felt safer inside there than out here, exposed to that noise. In the cave, she knew every little nook and cranny like the back of her paw, so there was nothing to fear. But here, she knew almost nothing.

She remembered hearing the crackling _boom _and the blinding lights that flashed during storms. They always scared her, sometimes more so than Grack herself. Though those were rougher, darker storms than the one they were facing, she still couldn't shake the fear out of her mind.

Sulking, she clutched her edge of the itchy cloak closer to her. _Clove wants to get to Redwall now. Keetch said it'd be dry there._

"Keetch, are we going to find shelter?"

"Trees don't provide the best of places."

"Oh," she replied lamely.

"We'll find someplace soon enough," he reassured her, "Just wait until you hear bells."

"Bells?"

He nodded in response. "You'll know it when you hear it." She gave him a questionable look, but he turned his attention back to the muddied path, the road seeming to wind this way and that in some mad trail of mist and foliage.

* * *

Brink cursed inwardly as he nearly tripped over another tree root. Wade said that it was faster to cut through the forest instead of following the road, but Brink wasn't too sure about that. He gritted his teeth as he gave himself an extra spurt of speed, catching up with the rest of the otters. It pained him, lagging behind the others as if he really was inexperienced. He had to prove that he could handle these sort of things.

Predictably, running the lead was Skipper, speeding hard and fast as if the icy rain didn't exist. And at his side was Wade. The scout's stamina surprised Brink, since he'd already run a great deal today. However, he was probably used to traveling long distances, since he was usually the messenger between the holt and Redwall. And just behind them were Gred and Barl, two of the more serious otters in the holt.

And he was the youngest one out of all of them. _I told Skip I was old enough t'handle things on my own. _He clenched his fists. He wasn't about to slow things down. He let a small growl rumble in his throat and willed himself faster, closing the distance between him and the group.

* * *

_I'm just a couple hours away from Redwall. I can't believe I've made it this far. _Keetch wiped the stray raindrops from the tip of his nose. It was strange. He wasn't sure about it, but he coud've sworn that he was here before. _Maybe this is the path I went when I ran away... _He felt his heart tug at the painful memory. Instantly, he felt a wave of doubts flood his head, pummeling away at his resolve.

He shook the rain out of his fur angrily. _No. I can't back down now. There are beasts out there I need to save. Things I need to make amends for. _

And then another thought entered his mind. _But j__ust what kind of threat is Redwall under? Did I come too late to save them? No wait, I doubt it. I haven't seen any signs of a massive army just yet. But could I actually make a difference? But then again, why would Martin ask me to help if I really wasn't able to do anything anyways? _That thought lifted his spirits a little. _But... I haven't heard from Martin in a while. Did he give up on me? He said he was going to guide me._

"Keetch, how much longer?" Clove groaned as she sloshed through the ankle-deep water.

"Just a little longer."

"Can Clove stop somewhere? Clove's tired."

"We can't stop now," he replied, "Nothing here is suitable for rest."

_What we need is an overhang. _Again, his mind was stricken by nostalgia, traveling back to the past that he'd seldom visited. He remembered the day after Ma Krammel died, back when he and Brink were still chained together. Still stricken by the death of thhe kindly old volewife, they had found shelter in under a rocky overhang. _Brink was so depressed that day, being all quiet for once. And I remember trying to make him feel better, if telling to get out of the rain counts as "consoling". _

He looked up absent-mindedly, thinking back to the memory as he stared at the liquid silver that came streaking down to the ground. _I wonder where he is now?_

* * *

Brink had somehow managed to catch up with his companions, weaving through the woods. Without much effort, he leapt over a fallen tree, the fierce adrenaline pounding in his veins. He drew in ragged breaths, the rain blurring his vision.

He was out on a hunt, a mission: destroy the vermin.

Nothing could've been any better for him now than to tear down the ones who'd made his life so miserable. Nothing would taste sweeter than revenge. And nothing else would sate his hunger for bloodshed, calm his pent-up anger, or redeem himself.

He allowed himself a smug grin as he drew a knife from his belt, every instinct in his body telling him that he was near his prey. Upon seeing the forest thin ahead, he slowed his pace and crept up silently through the foliage, staying hidden behind a cluster of trees while he waited for his quarry.

* * *

The snow fox jumped over a large puddle, his paws skidding awkwardly in the mud before he regained his balance. He heard the slosh of water as Clove attempted to leap across, only to fall a little short. She sniffled as she tip-toed across and rejoined him on the other side.

"Clove hates this place," she sulked. "Clove hates the rain."

"The worst will be over soon."

"But Keetch keeps walking too fast!" she complained. The snow fox sighed, slowing his pace to something more of her speed. For a few minutes, she seemed perfectly content, but then as he continued, he found that Clove had fallen behind once again. Groaning, he stopped and waited for the exhausted rabbit to catch up.

Realizing that he was waiting for her, she ran up to him.

"Whoa-oof!" _Splat!_

And the next thing they knew, Clove was lying face-first in a sticky pile of mud, twigs and leaves pasted to her face. Speechless, Keetch just stayed there as she got sat up and began sniffling pitifully as she wiped the muck from her fur.

"Come on," he urged, "Get up." Still whimpering, she got back on her footpaws and walked up to him, her head hanging low. He gave her a corner of the cloak so she could clean her face up a bit.

"We'll get there soon," he promised again, though he was already having his own doubts. She just nodded sullenly, which bothered the seer. _She's quiet. Too quiet._

"Do you want to talk about something? Ask about anything," he said, leading her down the path. _Anything to distract her right now. _She nodded, combing the debri out of her fur. Although cleaner, her face still had ugly brown smears and mud still caked her entire body.

"Anything?"

"_Almost_ anything."

"Oh." There was a lightness to the atmoshere now, and Keetch couldn't help but feel relieved when his companion was thinking of something other than her misery.

"Uh... goodbeasts live in Redwall, right?"

"Yes. I already said that."

"Then where do the vermins live?"

He shrugged. "Anywhere, really. They could be living out in the woods, traveling, or spending their lives inside a large fortress or castle."

"A what?"

"A big building made of stones or wood."

She wrinkled her nose. "That's strange. Caves are better places. Rocks and sticks would only fall down."

"Not if you do it right," was his curt answer, "Castles and fortresses are much better than any dank old cave."

"Oh. That's right," Clove nodded in sudden agreement, "Then where did Keetch come from?"

"Huh?"

"Keetch wasn't born in Cave like Clove. Where did Keetch used to live?" The question surprised him a bit, but Keetch managed to change the subject.

"Psh," he snorted, "I doubt you were actually born in that hellhole. You were probably taken away from your parents when you were just a mindless infant, too young to remember anything." Instantly, her eyes widened as she gaped with wonder.

"Clove wasn't born in Cave?" she gasped.

"Well there really is no way that Grack could capture a full-grown rabbit and keep her locked in a cave. That old vixen was too weak for something like that," he explained tersely, "You would've had to have been snatched away from your mother or something. Maybe you were orphaned... or maybe she abandoned you or died of child-b... Never mind."

"What does Keetch mean?" she asked, tilting her head to the side. "Snatched?"

"The point _is_," he said, his voice stretched, "You never belonged in that cave in the first place. You were Grack's prisoner ever since you were a baby. That's what I mean."

"Then what's a baby? And what about orphaned? And what's a mother?" the little rabbit pressed, tasting the foreign words on her tongue.

Keetch sighed, wondering what she would do without him. "A baby is a newborn, somebeast tiny, useless, and fragile. An orphan is somebeast who has nobeast to take care of it. And as for a mother, it's somebeast who raises you. A female."

"Like Grack?"

"_No_," he sputtered, cringing at the thought. "It would have to be a rabbit like you. And Grack probably took you away from her." And then he softened his voice, looking away. "She might just be dead."

"Oh," she nodded again, seeming more curious and confused rather than distraught. After all, how could she grieve for somebeast she'd never even thought of, much less known?

"Where's Keetch's... mo-ther," she asked innocently.

"I really don't know," he replied, staring at the ground as it squelched under each step. "Where I come from, we didn't have mothers. All children were put into training as soon as they came to a certain age."

"Training to be a seer?"

"To be a soldier," he said, his voice hardened, "A soulless, mindless killer." For a moment, the rabbit was quiet, trying to imagine him as something like a blood-smattered Grack. She shuddered at the thought, thanking Fate that he chose a different path.

"And Keetch didn't want to be a killer? Keetch doesn't want to be vermin?"

"I wasn't much of a vermin or a killer anyways. I wasn't the strongest or the fastest or-" He stopped abruptly, wondering why he was telling her all of this.

"And where's that place?" she ventured, her ears twitching.

"I _don't_ want to talk about it," he said stonily.

"Oh... then... um... Clove's been wondering," she began slowly, carefully changing the subject, "Why are foxies vermin and goodbeasts? What makes foxies and vermin evil?"

"Because that's the way things are," he said. Honestly, he really didn't know how to answer that question right. "I guess that foxes are just born that way. Evil."

"But Keetch is a goodbeast," she said, frowning in her thought. "Why is Keetch a goodbeast when foxies are evil? Is Keetch a special fox?"

"It's _foxes_, and no, I don't think so," he shrugged. "Maybe it's because I was with a goodbeast for a long time. His 'goodness' must've rubbed off on me, probably."

"Who was that goodbeast?"

"... It... doesn't matter," he finished. "He's gone now."

"What was Goodbeast like, then?"

Keetch shrugged as he stared at the road before him. "He liked adventure and hated living an uneventful life. He was brave, stubborn, and very strong, willing to fight for whatever he thought was right. But he was also reckless, always diving headlong into fights without thinking things through," he tilted his head slightly, recalling his old friend, "He wasn't very bright either."

"Where's Goodbeast now? Clove wants to meet Goodbeast."

Keetch shook his head wearily. "Probably far far away from here. We haven't seen each other in two seasons."

"Oh. Is Goodbeast dead?" she asked, her whiskers twitching curiously as her guardian sighed.

"I'm not sure. I hope he isn't." And then something caught his eye. "See that?" he pointed upwards, somewhere above the trees and into the distance. Clove followed the direction of his finger and gasped in awe.

"It's so _big_," she exclaimed, hopping with glee. And indeed it was. It was the biggest thing she'd ever seen, and despite the dismal appearance of the drooping forest, the rosy building stood proud and invincible, towering over the tallest of trees.

"It's Redwall," Keetch said, watching her eyes grow large.

"Really?" she asked quietly, seeming a little unsure.

"The name fits."

"But... the creatures there might squish us."

"What?" the fox raised a curious brow.

"The place is so big, much bigger than Cave," she explained hurriedly, "The creatures there must be _really really really_ big. What if they don't look down and step on Keetch? Like Clove stepped on ants? Would Keetch make that _splat_ sound that the beetle made?" Keetch slapped a palm to his forehead, groaning out loud.

"Did Clove make Keetch angry?" she asked, sounding more curious than afraid.

"_No_," Keetch said in an exasperated tone, "Just because they live someplace bigger doesn't mean they _are _bigger. None of the beasts are big enough to step on us. The reason why it's so big is because there's practically a horde of beasts living inside."

"Ooooh," she nodded her head, "But Keetch, if goodbeasts aren't big enough to squish us, how big are they? Are they as big as Keetch? Are they smaller than Clove? What if they're tiny? Like ants!"

"Forget it," he grunted, quickening his pace and leaving her out in the rain again.

"Wait! Keetch? Wait for Clove!"

* * *

Nobeast had been this way. If they had, they would've left footprints in the mud-soaked road. Brink was sure of it, just as sure as the fact that he could wait them out all day if he had to.

He kept his eyes intent on the origin of the path, as if he was willing the unfortunate creature to his trap. Skipper and the others were beside them, catching their breath.

"Remember," Skipper whispered, wiping the chilling rain from his eyes, "There's a little rabbit with the fox, so we'd have to be careful not t'hurt her. And we've got to be quick too, in case he takes her as hostage." His companions merely grunted in response, their shoulders tense and their eyes set in determined frowns.

Silent, they crouched low, watching and waiting for any sign of life. Time seemed to freeze over as the scenery remained unchanged, no sound except for the hushed _pitter-patter_ of drizzle and their soft breathing. But Brink was restless, his tail twitching despite his intention to stay perfectly still. His knees ached, his paws were numb, and he was up to his ankles in mud and foliage.

_I've had enough of this._ Painfully, he stood up, wincing as he stretched his stiffened legs. _Just how long have we been waiting. And what's taking him so long?_ _What if that vermin realized what we're up to? What if he's changed directions? _Without a word to his companions, he crept off, traveling along the road. He heard a couple soft whispers of his name, but he simply waved back to the otters. _It'll be alright. I can take care of myself._

Stepping noiselessly, he continued up his trek, not even bothering to look back at his company. _I'm just scouting ahead a little. _

He didn't know how far up he'd walked, but he could no longer feel their presence boaring into his back. He turned around, just to see where they were. At first he began to think he'd gone out of their sight, but then he noticed a slight movement as one of the otters shifted his position. _I'm pretty far off, but m__aybe I can go just a little farther._

He turned his head back and as if on cue, an ominous cloaked figure appeared on the road. Brink swallowed, forcing something thick and heavy down his throat as he gripped the knife in his paw. And despite the danger roiling in the air, Brink found himself grinning maliciously, instinctly pulling his arm back in preparation for a throw.

_Come at me then._ His eyes glinted the color of a furious sea. _Come get this._

* * *

_"Achoo! ACHoo!" _

Keetch looked down at the little rabbit. She slowed her pace considerably, rubbing her nose with a sleeve as she sneezed into it once more.

"We'll get there soon," he promised her once again. "Remember the story I told you to tell?"

"Uh-huh," she nodded, the tattered fabric still pushed up against her nose.

"Good. Redwall will be warm and dry. You'll like it there."

_"Keetch."_

"Huh?" the fox whirled around, his eyes seeking the owner of that willowy voice. But there was nothing behind him except for mud, trees, and rain.

"D-did somebeast say my name?" he asked softly, as if speaking to himself.

He heard Clove groan as she realized that his sudden movement had once again left her exposed to the weather. She immediately ducked back under the cloak again, all shivery and wet, but he was less concerned about that.

"I... I thought I heard..."

Suddenly, he felt a cold chill wash over him and there was a gentle tap on his shoulder, as if somebeast were right behind him trying to whisper a secret in his ear.

"Martin?" He spun around, this time seeing a silvery flash spin towards him. He ducked his head just in time, feeling the object _whoosh_ right over the tips of his ears.

_THUNK!_

He twisted his head around, witnessing a hilt throttle in a tree trunk. He whirled back around to see where it came from and he saw a brown blur barrel towards him, a sound of leather against steel ringing in the air- the sound of a sword being unsheathed.

* * *

Clove shrieked as some vicioius beast burst out of the woods and hurtled towards them. Everything was in panic and she was at a complete loss. A voice inside her screamed at her, urging her to run away. And then there was that other voice that ordered her to stay with Keetch, since he always knew what to do. She stayed rooted to the spot at first, her eyes following the attacker as it sliced at the fox, ignoring her entirely.

_What is that? And why is it trying to hurt Keetch? Why? Keetch never did anything wrong. Clove doesn't want to die!_

And finally, her knees were shaking and all she could do from crumbling to the ground was to run. Run away. Run as far and as fast as she possibly could. Out of fear and confusion, she nearly stumbled over her footpaws, skidding against the mud as she struggled to keep her numbled legs moving. She let out a strangled sob as she dove behind a tree trunk, her claws grappling against the rought bark. She squeezed her eyes shut as she bit her lip, ears pricked upright to detect any oncoming danger. _But what about Keetch?_ Cautiously, she looked behind to see if he was following after her or if he'd settled with the attacker already. But to her shock, he was clumsily dodging the attacks, narrowly escaping the blade that threatened to rip him apart.

Panting and shaking like a leaf in the middle of a storm, she leaned against a thick trunk, her paws clasped over her mouth in an effort to keep herself together. _Should Clove help Keetch? Is Keetch gonna be alright?_

And then there was a movement across the road and she stifled a gasp as she saw two other figures come to her slowly. She whimpered as she ducked behind the trunk, hoping they hadn't seen her. However, in the back of her mind, she was aware of the danger she was in. They knew she was there. They were going to kill her. Panting, the blood pulsing in her ears, she clasped her paws over her mouth, hearing the torturous sounds of their approach.

_Crunch. Crunch. Crunchcrunch. Crunchcrunch- crunch CRUNCH CRUNCH!_

They were coming for her. She felt her heart thrum wildly as she trembled, imagining a knife hanging over her head. She spun around, peeking at the hunters that edged to her slowly, their paws outstretched. She gaped at them, backing away.

They weren't like Keetch who had a long pointed snout, triangular ears, and a thick brown tail. These creatures, whatever they were, were bigger, savage-looking, monstrously muscular, tattooed, and had big hefty tails that seemed capable of shattering her spine.

"It's alright, Little One," one of them said said soothingly, beckoning her with a finger. "Come here." She shook her head, her obedient nature absent for once.

"We aren't here t'hurt ye," the other smiled, coming closer. "We're friends. We've come to save you."

"NO!" she yelled as she spun on her heels and bolted. She heard one of them sputter a command as the other cursed. She looked behind her shoulder, hoping that they'd given up on her, but luck wasn't on her side. Instead, the strangers were following her doggedly, still calling for her to stop. _Vermin. Keetch called the bad beasts vermin. Vermin are going to kill Clove. Vermin are going to kill Keetch_.

She sped her pace, running as she'd never run before. Young and lithe, she had all the natural swiftness of a rabbit. She was long-limbed and slim, built for speed. Those creatures following her seemed ungainly in the woods, crashing through the undergrowth. For a second, she thought they were far behind her and that the worst was over. That was a mistake. Just as she was running down a slope, her paws slipped from under her, making her trip and stumble all the way down.

She grunted as she hit the ground, her entire body throbbing. Propping herself on her elbows, she began mewling quietly to herself as she felt the corner of her mouth to see that her lip was bleeding again. Then she looked down to see that her knees had been scraped raw and bloody. Oddly, she hadn't felt any pain before noticing the wounds, and now, she was sucking the air through her teeth as she wiped mud from them.

_Crunch crunch..._

She gasped as her ears picked up more sounds. The pain quickly dissolving, she scrambled away, leaping across felled trees and splashing through puddles. She had no sense of direction through all the foliage. For all she knew, she was running in circles. _What if Clove is running into a trap?_

"She's over there!" She barely heard the shout past the roaring of blood pulsing in her ears.

_What do they want? Clove doesn't have anything. Keetch wouldn't hurt anybeast. We didn't do nothing!_ But she remembered what Keetch told her, how vermin would torture and kill just for pure enjoyment. They didn't care who their victims were, just as long as blood was shed. She gulped in another swallow of breath as she zipped past the trees, hearing the sounds fade once more. _But where was Keetch?_ She hoped desparately that he was alright.

"Keeeeeeeetch!" she yelled shrilly, emptying her lungs. "Help! KEEEEEEETCH!"

It was hard to hear any reply as she was running noisily through the woods, but as far as she could tell, she couldn't even hear his voice. All she could hear were those terrible beasts crashing through the forest, hunting her.

"Keetch!" she called again. She feared for the worst. _What if Keetch is dead? _She felt her heart crumple at the thought. But then she remembered how smart he was, how he'd survived starvation and thirst in that cave. _No. Keetch can't die just like that. Keetch is really strong. Keetch can't. But what if vermin make Keetch a slave? _The thought of her kind and resourceful master living in such demeaning conditions made her feel ill. _What if Clove never gets to see Keetch again? What if vermin kill Clove in front of Keetch?_

She squeezed some teardrops out of her eyes as she contemplated that option. She couldn't imagine the look on his face when he would see her lifeless body slumped to the ground, blood pouring out of the gash in her throat.

_No,_ she told herself as she glanced behind to see the figures closing up the distance between them. _Keetch is strong and brave. Keetch would protect Clove. Keetch must live. Keetch _has_ to live._

* * *

Meanwhile, a dangerous game of life and death was being played.

_"Die!" _the attacker shouted as Keetch yelped, jumping backwards. He felt the hood flop uselessly against his head, blocking the vision from his sides.

"W-wait wait wait!" he stammered as he found his back pressed up against a tree, holding his medicine case up like a shield. In a flash, he saw the assailant's face, identifying it for an otter. His mind reeled as he stumbled away from the sword's path, noticing how it sliced the tree bark as if it were butter. _That could've been me._

And then the otter swiped at him again, and this time, Keetch narrowly missed it, feeling the sharp edge slice his forearm. He winced as he chanced to look down at it, seeing a flash of red. Suddenly, he was jerked back to full attention as he sensed movement from the corner of his eyes. Instinctively, he ducked his head behind the medicine case, feeling the impact of the sword against the surface, forcing the make-shift shield to lurch sideways at the powerful force.

"But wait!" he pleaded again as he dodged yet another slash, seeing two other otters appear behind his opponent. Instantly, the air rang with a harsh hollow sound as the sword clashed against the wooden case once again, sending tremors of energy up the fox's arm.

Immediately after, the otter had sent a swift kick to his stomach, forcing the air out of Keetch's lungs. With a short bark of pain, the fox doubled over, staggering backwards. And then he saw the sword raise into the sky, poised for the kill. Panicking, Keetch dropped the heavy box and felt his legs turn to jelly, forcing him to crash into the ground.

As he looked upwards, he witnessed the sword glint maliciously as he rolled onto his side, hearing the blade hack at the mud where he'd been just a heartbeat before.

Belly to the ground, Keetch tried to scramble away from his mad attacker, clawing at the mud on all fours. But despite his attempts, he found himself immobile as something pulled him backwards.

"Ugh!" he yelped, feeling his tail tug at him painfully. But it wasn't his tail betraying him. He grunted in agony as somebeast ground its heel into it, pinning him to the spot.

And then a remorseless, icy voice snarled from above him. "It's time you paid your dues, vermin."

_This is it then? _Keetch squeezed his eyes tight, readying himself for the mortal blow. _I'm going to die like this?_

"Brink!" somebeast shouted.

_Brink?! He's here?_

"No killing!" the voice said again, and this time it sounded like the speaker was standing right over him. "You can't kill in cold blood!"

"Damn you! Let go! _Let go_!"

Keetch didn't know why he didn't recognize that voice before. He opened his mouth to tell him he was here, that he'd come back, but except for a pathetic squeak, no sound came out.

"Keep him alive for now," another one said, his deep voice joining the fray, "He needs to be questioned."

"What for?" Brink's voice snarled.

"See what he knows. It would be pointless to go through all this trouble for no information. Huh, he seems pretty shaken up. I bet we could get him to sing nicely." Instantly, Keetch felt somebeast stomp on his back, painfully pressing the wind out of him. At that moment, he found his voice to speak again, though his throat felt raw and he hoped they would be able to hear him past their argument.

"But... Brink, wait... it's me... it- it _hurts_... Don't you... gnh... recognize me, Brink?!" But his voice was a weak and brittle rasp as he exhaled, easily lost amongst the stronger, louder voices of his captors. He struggled feebly, as if he could claw his way from them, but the weight they had on him only made things worse as one of them pushed his face into the mud.

"Quit your squirmin'!" a voice growled. "And both of you, quit your arguin'." But obviously, his authority had its limits in this conflict.

"You're out of control! You almost _killed_ him."

"It's just a vermin!"

"Skipper said to let him live!"

"For interrogation. I say we cut off a few limbs-" That was Brink's voice. _Brink's voice suggesting my torture. He... he actually tried to kill me._

"No!" his savior interrupted.

_"Fine!"_ It was Brink again, his voice heated. "If that's the way you want it!"

Instantly, Keetch felt a jarring pain on the side of his head that sent up visions of a brilliant burst of golden stars. And then he felt his head grow heavy as the world began to grow dark. He felt his face against the mud, and he heard distant voices still talking over him. And then the world went cold; a black, painless nothingness.

* * *

The hooded fox slumped harmlessly to the ground, his nose buried in mud. Still growling, Brink stepped off its tail, muttering curses under his breath as Wade let go of his arm. The kick to the head was less than merciful and it had forced the fox to unconsciousness, but at least he was still alive.

"I could've killed him," he muttered frostily.

"In cold blood? That would've made you as bad as _them_," Wade replied, nodding at the fallen figure.

"He would've done the same to anybeast else," Skipper said, spitting onto the ground.

"Well," Wade reverted back to his quieter self, realizing that the otter chieftain wasn't on his side, "What should we do with him? I mean, that cut's going to need some stitches." His last sentence had a certain edge to it that made Brink clench his fists.

"Take him back for questioning," the leader shrugged, narrowing his eyes as he looked behind him. "Hm? That's odd. Where's Gred and Barl with that dibbun?" He put his paws on his hips, muttering to himself as he took a few steps to see a little farther.

"So what should we do once we squeeze the information out of 'im?" Brink asked grudgingly, lifting the body carelessly by the scruff. "Honestly, this is why vermin take advantage of us goodbeasts. It's 'cause we're just too merciful, so we let them get away so they could destroy more innocent lives elsewhere. Kill one vermin, we might just save about five lives... And we could've saved some time as well, seeing that we could've left his corpse here if you let me deal with- _OOF!"_ A tiny brown figure dashed from the undergrowth, ramming into Brink with all the force it could muster, knocking him sideways so that he almost tripped over his tail.

"ARGH!" he screamed in rage as it bit savagely onto his forearm, sinking its claws into his flesh as he tried to shake it off. Panicked, Brink brought his free paw down hard on his attacker's face, striking it off of him.

The little bundle of fur hit the ground hard but managed to get back up on her footpaws, dazed as she was from the blow.

"_What_...?" Brink choked back, realizing that his assailant was no more than a rabbit, a harmless child- the one he was supposed to be saving. Closing an eye, she clutched the painful spot on the side of her face, thrusting a look of pure hatred in his direction.

"Are you...alright?" the sea otter whispered, taking a slow step forward. Skipper and Wade, however, just stood there, gaping at the little rabbit that dared to attack her rescuers. She was now shaking, of rage or fear or maybe both, they didn't know.

"Vermin!" she spat, Brink's blood smeared on her mouth. Her balance was wavering as tears welled up in those fierce eyes of hers. "Vermin killed Keetch!" She rushed at Brink again, but before she could take three steps, Wade and Skipper were upon her, struggling to get her to be still while handling her as gently as they could.

"Vermin killed Keetch!" she screamed once more as she fought against them, though there was despair in her voice this time.

"Keetch...?" Brink breathed, glancing back at the fallen fox. _Could it be?_ Panting and anxious, he turned the body around and pulled back the hood. _You're not dead, are you?_ _Oh please don't. Please don't be him. Please don't be dead. No._

And there, underneath the hood, beneath the mud, despite the fur color, was that familiar face he remembered.

"Keetch..." he whispered in disbelief, "It's you." Quickly, he fumbled his fingers and pressed it against the fox's neck, feeling for a pulse. He found nothing. _No_.

And then sure enough, there was a small, but steady beat against the tips of his fingers. He breathed a sigh of relief, but then the horrible realization hit him like a slap to the face. _I almost killed him. I almost _murdered _him. What have I done? What did I almost do?_

He should've been glad that his old friend had come back, he knew that much. But there were a thousand different outcomes from this dangerous encounter, and if Wade wasn't there to interfere...

Breathless and panting, he noticed a thin scarlet web of liquid dribbling down his arm, the cut an angry line that stretched from the wrist to the elbow. It wasn't a life-threatening injury, but it was a wound all the same. Holding the arm up gingerly, Brink inspected it more closely, the hot metalic stink of blood invading his nostrils; instantly, he felt bile rush up his throat before he managed to swallow down the sickening liquid.

Grimacing, he ripped his tunic, not caring that the tear had left his side half bare as he bandaged the wound with trembling fingers. Instantly, the brown fabric began to soften as a darker color spread on the bandage. _Oh hell, what did I do?_

"I-it's Keetch," he announced, though he was too numb to know how loud he'd said it. He heard himself just fine, though he wasn't sure if any of his friends heard him through the dibbun's cries. He must've been too busy watching over the still form of his old friend, for he didn't even notice that Gred and Barl had arrived at the scene, their arms criss-crossed with scratches- a testament of their previous efforts to capture the rabbit. Numbly, the sea otter looked down on his arm, noticing the pain and the bloody teeth marks for the first time.

"NO NO NO!" the rabbit screamed again, and he heard her gnash her teeth together in a warning.

"It's alright," he heard somebeast attempt to soothe her. "It's alright, we're friends."

"NO!" she shouted again as she kicked hard at one of the otters. Brink just sat there, watching as the group wrestled with her, hauling her up in the air by her arms as she kicked wildly and shrieked bloody murder. And each time they tried to calm her, she would wriggle out of their grasps and claw at them. Obviously, catching a dibbun was easy enough, but making sure it was unharmed in the process was a completely different matter.

"That's it!" Skipper muttered as he stalked away from the fight and up to the fallen fox. Before Brink could realize what was going on, Skipper had pulled him up in a sitting position and had a knife at his throat.

"Skipper!" Brink gasped, reaching his paws out to remove the blade.

"Just watch," Skipper snapped before turning his attention to the dibbun. Wade had several nasty scratches on his face, but he actually managed to grab her by the scruff of her ragged shirt, hauling her up harmlessly into the air. However, the little rabbit continued to flail her arms around, trying her hardest to strike him in the nose.

"Clove will kill Vermin! Kill Vermin 'til they're _dead_!" She punctuated that last word with a vicious kick to the air, though it did nothing, since her captor had her held away at an arm's length. But immediately, when she saw the unconscious fox, she stared at him in horror and let herself go limp in the otter's grasp.

"Now listen very carefully and I'll make things simple," Skipper said slowly, emphasizing every syllable, "He's not dead, he's just unconscious, and if you don't come quietly and do as I say..." As if to promise her, he put a little pressure on the knife.

"What are ye doing?!" Brink demanded, grabbing the otter's wrist, "Get that-"

"_Sh!"_ he hissed, "You know I won't hurt him, but _she_ doesn't know that."

Defeated, the dibbun's face turned ashen pale as she nodded her head slowly, her eyes welling up with tears. Seeing her submission, Skipper nodded at Wade, signalling him to release her. Gently, the otter lowered to the ground. She stood on her two paws at first, staring at them with eyes full of fear, and then her legs crumpled from under her and she began to sob helplessly.

At that reaction, Skipper slackened his hold on the fox's scruff, a mix of concern and uncertainty in his eyes. "Easy, easy," he said as soothingly as he could, "Nothing's going to happen to you. Everything's gonna be fine." But those words failed, leaving the little rabbit in a weeping mess.

"Don't worry," Wade knelt down beside her. "We're not here to hurt you." He lowered his paw to give her a comforting pat on the head, but she slapped it away angrily.

"_Alright_," Brink shoved the knife away from the hostage's throat, "You got what you wanted." And then he added more firmly, "Don't hurt him."

"Don't worry," the otter chieftain said, thrusting the knife back into his belt, "We won't hurt him. Hm. He just seems to be unconscious. Nothing serious." And then he clenched his teeth tight as he looked down at his bloodied arms and then back at the rabbit. "The poor little dibbun's obviously confused and frightened out of her wits. We'll take 'er to the holt and take care of her. She'll calm down by then."

"And what about Keetch?" Brink asked anxiously, throwing the fox's arm over his shoulders as he hauled him up as gently as he could.

"Him?" the burly otter looked back at the captive, "Aye, we'll take him with us too. We'll see what he has to say about the little dibbun."

"What are you talking about?"

"She's his slave, for all we know."

"No she isn't!" Brink flared, "He's obviously been taking care of her. If she was his slave, why isn't she in chains? Why did she come back to protect him if she was enslaved, _huh_?"

"We won't know until we ask," Skipper replied. "So, I'll help you get him to the holt in one piece while Wade does the same with the dibbun."

"He wouldn't enslave her," Brink repeated again, though softer, but something else had already caught Skipper's attention.

"Hm?" he said to himself, looking at some object in a mud puddle, "What's this now?" He knelt to the ground, picking some sort of package. "What...?" He wiped the muck off of it, inspecting it closely. Feeling along the edges, he found a clasp and undid it, hearing a satisfying _click_ come from it. Brink walked up to him, curiously looking over his shoulder while Wade craned his neck to see.

"It looks like a... suitcase," he observed.

"Stop touching that!" Clove protested, still on all fours. "That's Keetch's! Not yours!"

" ...Hehe," Skipper chuckled nervously as he moved some of the trinkets around, scrutinizing every detail. "She's quite a feisty one... well, I see nothing wrong with this case here. Just a bunch of empty jars and medicine." His voice seemed just a tad bit disappointed.

"Oh well. We'll get going then," Skipper threw the case at Gred, who caught it deftly. Without another word, he walked up to Brink and slung the hostage's arm over his shoulders. As hard as he tried, he couldn't hide the disgust he held towards Keetch's kind.

"What is that smell?" he asked, wrinkling his nose. "Just when was the last time 'e took a bath, I wonder?"

Brink opened his mouth to say something, but clamped it shut before any sound could come out. Instead, he found himself staring blankly ahead as he trudged forward, his mind still weighed down by the sudden burst of violence in him. _He came back. He came back and I almost killed him. What am I now, a warrior or a killer?_

* * *

**Just a quick note, did anyone notice the parallelism between what happened in Chapter 19 (Standing at the Crossroads) and this one? Well, for one thing, there's the name of both chapters. Crossroads are where paths separate, and well, this chapter's title hints at a reunion (or collision) of sorts. And then there are the Clove Attacks we've seen. Ironic, how she's all innocent and scared until her only friend is going to get killed. O_O That, and the fact that you could sort of think about how she ran away but came back, rather than just flee like another certain character.**

**And then there's Brink. Well, his anger and impulsiveness usually got him in all sorts of unnecessary predicaments. I know Foeseeker's probably seething by now, but hey, give him some credit since he actually defended Keetch a little and felt remorse. And Skipper being kind of... volatile? Well, yeah. That's his character. All nice and classic ottery to friends & family until vermin are involved. I just want to stray a bit from the characters BJ made. Ever notice how _all_ the woodlanders are generally peaceful? Just wanted to shake things up a bit and make it more realistic. Seriously, after all the countless generations of feuding and murdering between both sides, how can any group stay completely goody-goody all the time? Sorry. Getting off topic.**

**Nothing much to say now except to remind you all to REVIEW! Any constructive criticism, suggestions, corrections, questions, ideas, etc. are greatly appreciated. Even those one-word comments like "Great!" makes my day, and I'll even take the harsher reviews into consideration. Seriously, do your worst!**

**And thanks for reading everyone. :)**

**P.S. I probably won't be updating this story for a while, so wait for about 2 weeks or so. It's just that I seriously need a break and because I've been neglecting my other story for quite some time. D: Also, I seriously need to revise some chapters I'd promised to rewrite a long long time ago. Hm, I'm a procrastinator that way...**


	43. Bridging Some Trust

**All right. I'm sorry for the long delay, but here's the next part of the chapter. It focuses partly on Brink and partly on Clove, so you get to see what's going on inside their heads. One thing that has been bothering me for a while was Brink's lack of... well... "Brink-ness" (as Red Squirrel Writer pointed out). So now I'm hoping I've made him a bit more like that hot-headed otter 2 seasons back. Yes? No? Maybe so? :)**

**Anyways, I'm a bit worried about this chapter. Please review later to tell me what you honestly think. **

**And speaking of reviews, special thanks to all who reviewed since I last updated: Dunedain Ranger of the North, Sanfrasm, Persarr, Firehawk43, Fwirl of Redwall, Lightwatcher, Clash of Fire, Zinachu, cinamonpool, I. Redwings, Martin the Warrior, Foeseeker, Awsomewriter123, Silverzeo, Duskwing, DarkCraftus, and Hezzer1414.**

**_NOTE:_ If I suddenly seem as if I've disappeared off the face of the Earth, don't worry. I'm still going to continue. The reason why I'm telling you this is because I'm severely grounded for something and my mom found out. So either a) I'm grounded or b) my mom killed me. Nah, b was just a joke. :P But seriously though, this could be the last chapter for a long time. :(**

**Q and A**

**Hey peoples. Foeseeker (thanks, by the way :) ) told me that I should probably separate this out into a sequel or something. So I was thinking, since this story really has been diverging from what was originally planned, maybe I should. The only thing is, clumping all these chapters together has worked out okay for me so far, so I'm not really sure if changing things would make a difference. As of today, I've put a post up asking whether or not I really should split it. I plan to split it at around Chapter 50, where "Season 3" would've started. I'll call it "The Roads Before Us". If you have a better name idea, please tell me, though I want to keep the sequels and stuff sounding like "The Chains that Bind Us". I'll tell you guys the blurb sometime later. So VOTE!**

* * *

**Bridging Some Trust**

* * *

"Well," Brook shrugged, packing away the extra bandages. "He has a few broken ribs and that nasty cut you gave him, but other than that, he should be fine."

"Are you sure?" Brink asked again, casting a worried glance at the unconscious fox. Not only was he injured when they finally arrived, but he was also filthy and emaciated. _He must've gone through a lot..._

"Brink, it's nothing serious," she said again, frowning at the bloody scab on his arm. "And you should get some ointment for that bite. You never know. From the way she's acting, that little rabbit could be diseased." And then she rushed out the door to prepare for the other patient. From all the shouting he was hearing from the cabin next door, the rabbit was giving everybeast a very hard time. She had offered no resistence when they swaddled her up in a cloak, but when they arrived at the holt, she completely panicked. It was like she'd never seen any other beast before in her entire life.

At first she was just frozen in fear, sobbing and calling half-heartedly to Keetch as the band of otters came up to inspect the newcomers. And when they deposited her into the arms of adoring ottermaids, she dug her claws deep into Wade's shoulders, making the transition difficult as she screamed into his ears. And now, the ottermaids were giving her a bath.

"NOOOOOO! CLOVE DOESN'T WANT T'BE SOOOOOOUUUUP!"

_SPLASH!_

-or at least, they were attempting that feat.

But it was curious. Why was she with Keetch in the first place? Where did she come from? Where and when did they meet? On the walk back, she refused to say anything other than request that she be near the fox. _She must've meant a lot to him. At least he wasn't completely alone this entire t-_

"So when's your shift over?" The voice jolted him, but it was a familiar voice at least.

"Skipper? What are you talking about?" The otter chieftain was standing by the doorway, giving the fox a wary glance.

"I'm arranging guard shifts."

"Guard shifts?" Brink's eyes narrowed. "Keetch doesn't need to be guarded." Skipper shrugged, taking a few steps forward.

"We can never be too careful, Brink. This fox here, he was gone for two seasons and now he suddenly turns up out of nowhere for no reason at all? Don't you think that sounds suspicious?" _He's right. I've been wondering the same thing._

"But I know Keetch and he knows this place," he replied, keeping an even tone. "Maybe he's been sick and tired of traveling and he just wanted someplace to stay for a while."

"You're being naive, Brink," the otter replied, leaning against a cabinet as he crossed his arms. Intinctively, Brink felt the hair on the back of his neck raise. Usually he looked up to Skipper, but right now, he couldn't be too sure. He wasn't joking and laughing anymore. Everybeast knew what he was like whenever a single vermin was within a league of the holt. And here Keetch was, laying safely in the center of the entire otter community.

"I'm not being naive," the sea otter stated, his tone guarded.

"How are you not being naive? You're putting all your trust and faith on a vermin you haven't seen in two whole seasons," Skipper inching forward. "Aren't you worried that you're putting any other beasts in danger? Don't you worry about anybeast's safety? He's not even tied up or in a proper prison!"

"Sir, you're missing the point. Keetch is a friend. I'd been with him for months. We travelled roads together, survived a slave hold, battled vermin. I know him."

"And did you forget how he repaid your so-called 'friendship'?" Skipper asked icily. Brink stayed silent at that, squaring his shoulders as he looked back at the snow fox. He felt some anger uncoil within him as he remembered his abandonment. Even after he lay in the dirt bleeding and pleading for help, Keetch had turned away. He remembered the crushing hopelessness he felt as he slumped back to the ground, his own blood pooling around him as he lay there completely and utterly alone, shouting curses as his only ally left him to his fate.

_But..._

"Don't you remember how he abandoned you? How he left you to die?" the otter edged further. "Vermin are cowards, and when it all comes right down to it, they'd swap their families for some promotion in some drunken horde."

"Not Keetch." Brink's answer was certain and firm. "Keetch wouldn't do that. He's different from all the rest of them."

"How were his actions compared to any other vermin's?" the leader prodded, his teeth clenched. "He was a coward, remember? I thought that if anybeast would know, it would be you."

"Stop talking about it," Brink said with force, his eyes shining the with a mix rough determination and rekindled hurt. "I know that what he did was wrong, but it could've been worse. He's suffered from that mistake for long enough."

This time, Skipper switched to a different tactic. "And just what do you think he's been doing for the past two seasons, Brink? Frolicking in meadows? Making daisy necklaces for children? Singing with the songbirds? _Hmm?_" He looked at the younger otter expectantly.

"I don't know," Brink replied curtly, unconsciously curling his fingers into a fist. "But I know he wasn't out there mingling with vermin. He's my friend. I _know_ him." _I can stake my life on that_," he added inwardly, striking some confidence in his heart.

"You 'know him'," Skipper scowled, wrinkling his nose in disgust. "Do you really, Brink? Do you _really_?" He paused slightly before he continued. "Do you know what he was like before you met him? Do you know where he came from or what creatures he might have tortured since young? Do you know why he was even with the slavers to begin with?"

"Stop it," Brink growled, turning his back on him. "Stop talking about him like he's the enemy! He didn't do anything wrong. If anybeast has commited any crime here, it's us, Skipper! We were the ones who attacked first!"

"We don't even know what he came here for!" Skipper argued back, ignoring the blame.

"My point exactly."

"He was up to nothing good. As I always say, the only good vermin is a dead-"

"Stop it. I said _stop it_."

Skipper shook his head slowly, as if speaking to an irrational child. "And here I thought you were the only beast 'round here that knew of the pain vermin have put us through. How evil they could be. I thought you would be at my side- that you understood that there's no hope for vermin. Generation after generation of pain and death, why should the cycle end any time soon? You would think, that after all I've been through, everybeast would've learned from my suffering." Brink looked over his shoulder and back at the leader. His eyes couldn't help but stray to the silver pendant looped around the otter's neck, a symbol of what almost was.

"The cycle can't end unless you allow it to," Brink swallowed dryly. "And I told you, Keetch changed since we first met. He's left his vermin ways behind him- different from all the other scum. He's _reformed_. How many _damn_ times must I repeat that?!"

"It takes months for vermin to be reformed. It takes a long time for vermin to gain your trust. But do you know what Brink?" his voice became low, like a growl. "Do you know how long it takes for somebeast to destroy that trust and shatter your life? Do you?"

"Shut up. Just _shut the hell up!_" But the older otter showed no signs of relinquishing his argument.

"The same amount of time it takes to stab ye through the heart!" He jabbed a finger at Brink's chest, emphasizing the sheer suddenness of the motion. Brink stepped back from the force, his shoulders squared in defiance.

"That's all it takes," Skipper said in a quiet voice. "That's all it takes to kill somebeast. Just one quick movement. And that pain doesn't stop there." He leaned closer, his voice becoming a deadly whisper. "The pain spreads. The vermin always leave more victims than they intended. Don't you ever wonder what happened to the families of those poor beasts on that slave ship? Didn't you ever wonder what the pain your parents might have felt if they never saw their son again? The innocents have friends and families, Brink. Fathers, mothers, brothers, sisters, sons, daughters, nephews, nieces, husbands... wives... loved ones... they never spare anybeast."

And then the rage ensnared the chieftain's words again as he pulled his lips back in a snarl. "And nobeast actually likes to remember the beasts that were lost in the past. They'd rather just live and forget, ignoring these intrusions on our lives. They're ignorant. All of them! By the time they learn that vermin can _never _be left alone, it would be too late. You have to kill to protect, Brink; and if it were all completely up to me, that fox would be at the bottom of the river the minute we tortured enough information out of him."

Brink was silent, but only for a moment before the words escaped him mouth, daring words in a dangerously soft tone. "Keetch wasn't the one who killed Aver, and if you actually meant a single word of that threat, Skipper, you are one blood-thirsty bastard."

"Bastard?" Skipper actually _smirked_. "Bastard, am I? Well then, am I the one convincing every otter that it's perfectly safe to have a vermin within the area? Am I going to be 'the bastard' when we wake up tomorrow morning and find our children slaughtered and our homes burnt down? Tell me Brink, who would be the bastard then? Who will-"

"Make your point so you can get out of my face."

Skipper frowned hard at him, and Brink stared back, his chin slightly raised as a show of defiance. But even then, Brink wanted to break off the glare. But he couldn't do that. He'd already put so much faith in Keetch, he couldn't show any uncertainty now. _After everything, I owe him at least this much. _

"Just want to let you know that I don't trust this fox as far as I can throw him," the leader said simply.

"That could've been done without your monologuing," the sea otter replied. "But I figured you'd act this way. So here's what I have to say." He paused a bit, as if already expecting Skipper to interrupt, but all was quiet with a delicate politeness.

"If Keetch has nothing worth hiding and he has done no wrong, you have to accept him... or at least ignore him. But-"

"But?"

"I'm getting to that," Brink said tersely, clenching his teeth. "But_ if_ he really has done something wrong- _if_ he's hiding something..." _He's smirking. That damn otter's smirking as if he knows everything! _Brink tightened his fists, feeling his claws dig into his palm as he resisted the urge to punch something. "Then you can chase him out of Mossflower and we'll never see him again."

"That's it?" Skipper asked after a pause. "Just chase him out? Seems we'd be lettin' him off easy, wouldn't y'say?"

"Well, you can't kill him," Brink said pointedly. "Not when everybeast here is so peaceful and forgiving. Not when you're near Redwall."

"It would be for the good of us all, Brink... Besides, why aren't you willing to raise the stakes? Don't you trust your friend over here?" Skipper took a step closer.

"I trust him," Brink nodded, standing his ground as he flicked his eyes between the Keetch and Skipper. "But I don't think he'd appreciate me betting his life on anything."

"What he doesn't know won't kill him," Skipper snorted. "But oh wait. In this case, maybe it would."

"Leave him alone, Skip," Brink growled. "He's done nothing wrong. Just ask the rabbit."

"There's somethin' fishy goin' around about that," the river otter replied. "And I don't like it one bit. Just look at her. Malnourished, filthy, dressed in rags-"

"They're both like that," Brink said indignantly.

"But she's _half mad_, Brink. Remember how she just came out of nowhere and attacked you?"

"She was defending him."

Skipper snorted again, crossing his arms as he sent a deadly glare at the unconscious fox. "Something's wrong about the two of them. I just know it. And when I find out what he's done to her..."

_Just you try it_, Brink growled inwardly.

"Oh yes," the sea otter added, nodding as his voice dripped sarcasm. "Just what did Keetch do to make that rabbit hate him so much that she cries and begs to be with him all the time? It must've been some horrible torture."

"We'll see," Skipper replied, a knowing look in his eyes.

"She won't tell you anyways. She hates us both. She refuses to talk to us at all."

Skipper merely shrugged, turning away as he prepared to leave. "She's bound to trust somebeast sometime soon. And when she tells us everything, you'd better be ready to say good-bye to your little friend."

"Huh," Brink spat, landing a large glob on the floor. "So you're willing to accept this bet then? You're in for disappointment, Skip. A suitcase of medicine and a rabbit that loves him. I see no evidence there."

"He's a vermin and that's all the evidence I need." And with that, Skipper was out the door. With the threat out of the area, Brink exhaled slowly, his fists still clenched. He _had_ to trust the fox. He had to show some confidence in him, even in the most suspicious of times. If he didn't, Skipper would surely pounce on him like a pike on a wounded fish.

* * *

Sitting on top of layers upon layers of blankets, Clove sniffled broken-heartedly. She wanted Keetch, and it was almost unbearable, being all alone amongst these strangers without him to protect her. Every so often, she would quietly beg to be taken to him, to see him, to know he's alive, and to be told that everything was going to be alright- that he'd find a way to get them both out of this.

_But Otters won't let Clove see Keetch. Otters keep saying they will if Clove is good, but they still don't do it._

Even when they first laid eyes on the helpless little rabbit, they reached out for her, ignoring her feeble cries as they all surrounded her and carried her off. Then their voices clamored above everything else as they plopped her onto something soft- a "bed" was what they called it. And then some more otters came by and ordered her to do the simplest of tasks- wiggle her toes, breathe in and out, move her fingers, open her mouth, swallow- all while prodding at her everywhere, making sharp sounds of surprise as they inspected her health. _Otters don't know how to make their slaves do real work._

And then she would shudder every time one of them traced one of her scars, making soft cooing noises and petting her head as they did so. But at least, there was only one otter with her at the moment. It was an improvement compared to a group that would cluster around her.

"You poor little thing," the ottermaid said as she stroked her cheek comfortingly. "C'mon, let's give you a bath." And despite the fact that Clove was gripping at the sheets, her captor had no trouble plucking her off the bed and cradling the tiny bundle in her arms. They exited one room and came out into the open, where all the other otters could see her and point at her as she was carried off. Fearfully, the little rabbit ducked down, not wanting to catch the attention of anybeast.

"It's alright, it's alright. Sh-sh-sh," her captor said as she pat the whimpering rabbit on the head.

"Please," Clove quailed, struggling weakly against the grasp. "Clove wants to see Keetch. Please."

"You'll see him soon enough," the ottermaid said, stroking her delicate whiskers. "So Clove is your name, isn't it?" The little rabbit nodded at that.

"Well my name's Maylie," she introduced with a bright smile. "And don't you worry. We'll take good care of you." For a second, Clove actually felt a little comforted and safe. _Maybe Otters won't hurt Keetch and Clove. Maybe Otters would let us go if Clove obeys._

But when the ottermaid opened another door, Clove felt all that hope melt into fear. Inside was an old otter- not as old as Grack, but definitely old. She had the same toothless grin and wavery voice. And although her fur wasn't completely gray, it reminded Clove of her old master.

"Oh please," she croaked as she tried to scramble over the ottermaid's shoulder. And then her eye caught the object in the center of the room. It was big and made of wood, brimming almost to the top with warm, steaming water. Clove had seen something like those while she was living in the cave- "cauldrons", Grack called them. She shuddered uncontrollably as she remembered what they were used for.

"No," she cried, weeping into her knuckles as the elderly otter lifted her out of Maylie's grasp. She felt all her strength leave her as the younger otter turned around and shut the door- cutting her off her escape. Now she was all alone with them.

"Oh please no," she gasped as they peeled her rags off of her. "No. Please. Not that. No."

And then they held her above the water, saying soothing words that she couldn't discern.

"No! No! No!" she choked, kicking her legs in the air, just hovering over the heat.

"Just get into the tub, little one," they said to her.

"Don't eat Clove," she pleaded helplessly, digging her claws into the greying otter's arms. "Please don't eat Clove. Clove can be a really good slave- a _useful _slave! Please!"

They said more things, quickened words along with a call to somebeast outside. Clove could've sworn the old otter said something like "Meal's almost ready. We just need some help here."

And then she was in the water, the warm liquid soaking into her fur as she thrashed around, gripping the rim of the tub as the otters held her still.

"KEEEEEEEEETCH!" she shrieked, "Keetch! Save Clove! Please! Keetch! KEEEEEEEEETCH! Clove doesn't want to die! Clove doesn't want to die! No-o-o-o!"

"Quiet, quiet," the otters said in panicked voices, trying to hold the tub still as she flailed her limbs around. "Hush now. It's alright, it's alright. Please hold still. We're not going to hurt you. We're not going to hurt-"

"NOOOOOOOO! CLOVE DOESN'T WANT T'BE SOOOOOOUUUUP!"

**SPLASH!**

She felt herself pitch forward, she and the tub collapsing to the ground as a rush of up-turned water spilled out onto the floor, causing the otters to gasp in surprise. Panting, Clove sat up and scuttled to a corner, the air around her suddenly becoming cold as the door opened and more otters came in, gaping at the mess she'd just made.

"Don't eat Clove," she repeated softly, her teeth chattering. She was tired now, exhausted from her struggle. If they were going to put her into another cauldron, she wouldn't have enough strength to tip it over again. Cowering and shivering, she lowered her eyes, watching as a forest of legs and tails approached her. She lowered her ears, squeezing her eyes shut as she felt their paws brush her fur. And then they picked her up again, saying more of those false calming words as she wept and begged for mercy.

"No please please please. Don't eat Clove. Please don't be mad at Clove. Clove just doesn't want to be eaten. Please."

"It's alright. Hush you sillybeast," a voice said gently as she felt her ears being stroked. "Nobeast is goin' to eat ye or hurt ye or anythin'. You don't have to get into a tub if you don't want to. It's alright. Hush now. Hush." And then she felt herself being settled down on sombeast's lap, her bare fur being pressed tight against its clothes. Her eyes still shut, she flinched back, crying as she felt something rough touch against her skin. Carefully, she cracked her eyes open, watching as some rough, wet rags were dipped into bubbling buckets and scraped against her fur, rubbing the dirt out of it while a comb nipped and picked at her. She whimpered at the sight, her back legs kicking back helplessly before the otter pushed her head, forcing her to look the other way while the other otters did their work.

"See? Doesn't that feel all better?" they asked softly, encouraging her submissiveness. "There's no need to be afraid. None of it 'urts and we'll get ye all cleaned up in no time."

She made some soft piteous cries, half-hearted attempts to evoke pity; but more otters came, holding her limbs still as she struggled with little force. More than once, Clove tried to turn her head to see what they were doing, but the otters kept her staring at a blank wall. She sobbed quietly for Keetch, wishing he'd kick down the door and order them all to unhand her at once. And then she'd be safe again. But where was Keetch now? Where was he? _Keetch would never abandon Clove, would he? But what if Keetch is dead? Or... what if Keetch became a slave?_

The disturbing image materialized in her mind, an unbearable scenario playing out in front of her. She shut her eyes, squeezing some stray teardrops, envisioning her master being tethered to some dark cave just like she was, except he'd have nobody to free him or heal his wounds or talk to him- nobeast to save him. And the otters would all encircle him, beating him over and over again while he remained helpless and at their tender mercies, the thick cord threatening to strangle him. And she wouldn't be there to help him. She might never see him ever again.

Maybe if she tried just a little harder to save him? Maybe it was all her fault that Keetch was caught? Maybe it was just as Grack always said... maybe she really was useless and stupid and more trouble than she was worth?

The thoughts only made her delve deeper and deeper into despair. And finally, after what felt like forever, the otters slackened their grips and tucked the petrified little rabbit into a towel, rubbing her fur gently.

"Oh, the poor dear is so scared," somebeast said amongst the sea of voices.

And then she was sat down again, the towel working through her, warming and drying her. Through the long and uncomfortable process, little Clove did nothing to resist. After all, she had spent so much energy trying to escape. She shivered as she recalled how close she'd come to becoming the otter's soup, but the effort paid off at least. It seemed as though the otters were now too bothered and busy to prepare another cauldron now. _Clove's won this time, at least._ From that experience, she now knew that resistance wasn't completely futile. For that, she allowed herself a half-smile.

But that didn't last long either. Clove flinched as the towel was lifted from her head and her body was unwrapped. She gave a squeaking sneeze, blinking blearily at the candlelight as she breathed raggedly.

"See?" she heard somebeast's warm breath against her ear. "Doesn't it feel good to be all squeaky clean? Look, now we can see your pretty face."

She gasped, her eyes widening in horror. _Otters want to eat Clove's face!_

"Alright, give it here," she heard somebeast say, and before she knew it, she was being hoisted up into the air and shoved into some willowy fabric. She looked down, noting the glaringly-white cloth that now wrapped her. She gave out a quiet moan, wishing for her rags. At least those were familiar to her. But before she could make another noise, she was shuffled out of the hut and whisked back to another place.

Gently, they plopped her onto another bed, piling some warm blankets over her while the silhouette of another otter entered the room. She stifled another sob. _There are so many of them. How will Keetch rescue Clove from them?_

"There, there now. It's alright," the newcomer whispered, touching her arm gently. At that, Clove withdrew, sniveling as she pulled the covers up to her nose.

"It's alright, there's no need to be frightened," the ottermaid said, rubbing her between the ears. "My name's Brook, and your name's Clove. Is that right?" Clove lowered her eyes, nodding slowly.

"Clove wants to see Keetch..."

"He's not awake yet," Brook said as she pulled out a bottle of brown liquid and a spoon. "Besides, after walking around in all that rain, you're quite feverish... and famished, as well." And as if on cue, another ottermaid appeared at the doorway, carrying a tray of food. Wordlessly, Clove watched with wide eyes as everything was set on her lap- the strange silvery spoons, a cup of water, a piece of cloth, the round brown things, some grilled fish, a bowl of soup-

_Bowl of soup?_ The thought almost made her heart stop altogether.

_Where's Keetch? What did Otters do to Keetch? Otters made Keetch into soup!_ And then in one swift motion, she dashed the bowl to the ground, startling her captors.

"Hey!" one of them shouted. And then the rabbit picked up the entire tray, chucking it over the side and watching as it came crashing to the ground. The spoons, the bread rolls, the water- everything.

"Stop it!" they ordered. But it didn't matter anyways. The damage was already done and Clove was once again crying helplessly into her palms, her chest heaving as she choked and hiccupped, her entire body racked in grief.

"What is wrong with her?!" one of them complained, picking up after the mess.

"Just try to be patient, Jolin. She's been through a lot in one day," Brook replied as she got on her knees, picking up some potato of the floor. "Oh, and could you please go get some more towels and another tray of food? We'll see if she wants to eat then." Sulking, the other ottermaid nodded and left to do as she was told.

Feeling tears start falling from her cheeks, Clove hugged her knees to her chest as if doing so could fill that unbearable, sinking feeling in her heart. _Clove will never see Keetch again..._

And then she felt a little tap on her shoulder, something that nearly made her jump out of her skin.

"It's just food," the ottermaid said sternly, though not in an unkind way. "We're just trying to help, so please make things easier for us and cooperate." Clove sobbed broken-heartedly, hiding half her face in her blanket. Looking at her, Brook just couldn't keep her anger alive. She was just so adorable and innocent, and her actions were so pitiful. It really was heart-breaking.

"It's fine. We're not mad at you, so please stop crying." With that said, she carefully brushed some of the salty tears off the rabbit's face. "There. Is that better?" But despite her gestures of kindness, there was no response from the little patient. She just stared down at the blanket, her face the picture of loss.

Ignoring the apathetic mood, Brook sighed and shook the bottle of tonic, watching with interest as the little rabbit looked up and stared at the liquid with mild curiosity. With a small smile, Brook poured the contents out onto a teaspoon, giving a satisfied hum as she noted the perfection of the measurement. Now this was the hard part and she knew it. It took more than just coaxing and candy to force this sludge down any Dibbun's throat, and with this one, it would be more than just difficult. But maybe if she said the right words...

"If you eat this, you might just be able to get healthy enough to see Keetch when he wakes up. Do you want to see Keetch?"

She nodded ardently, her eyes sparkling as she held her breath as if she just didn't dare to hope.

"That's a good girl," she cooed. "So open your mouth and swallow this down with some water later. Alright?" She held the spoon close to the little rabbit, and to her surprise, she actually swallowed it. Of course, she noticed the shiver of revulsion run through her, but she managed the terrible liquid all the same.

"Here," she offered the cup of water, which Clove drank sloppily and noisily, the bitter taste washing out of her mouth. Once the cup was downed, Clove felt cloth brush against the corners of her mouth, making her scrunch her face up.

"See?" Brook smiled, folding the handkerchief. "All better."

"C-c-can Clove see Keetch now?"

"When he wakes up," she answered, picking a small bottle out of a cabinet and uncapping it.

"Clove, can you give me your paw?" she asked, holding her arm out, palms facing upward. Clove felt a shudder slither down her spine as she stared at the paw. She was terrified. It was a gesture that was similar to her. One she knew too well. _Brook wants to cut Clove. Brook wants to use Clove's blood for Ritual of Bones._

But she had to obey if she wanted to see Keetch. Taking a deep breath, she allowed a reluctant wrist to rest in the ottermaid's hold.

"This will sting a bit, but only for a while," she said as a word of warning. "Now hold still while I do this." Without another word or any hesitation, she dipped a finger in the bottle and smeared a gooey substance all over the raw patch on her elbow. It burned, and Clove winced and cringed. She wanted so badly to pull away, but Brook's grip was firm and she was still rubbing the ointment on.

Finally, she let go. "See? Was that so bad?" she said gently. "That was quite a nasty scrape, there. You must've been running very very fast."

"Clove was running from Otters," she sniffled, watching as Brook held her paw out once more, requesting her other arm.

"Ah, well..." the ottermaid managed to say before her patient obediently did as she was bid. "Well, we still have a few more cuts to deal with, so thank you for being such a brave and good little rabbit." For that, Clove allowed herself to flash with pride as Brook did the rest of the job. She found that the wounds stung less and less as time went on as Brook soothed and comforted her through all that pain.

"There," she said when the deed was finally done. "Very good, Clove. I'll make sure we give you an extra dessert when we get another tray... hmm... and speaking of which, where's Jolin with your supper?"

_Knock-knock_

Clove gasped as she saw who was standing at the door.

"Oh. Hello Skipper," Brook greeted him.

"Tough day, huh?" the otter asked as he walked inside, avoiding the mess on the floor while smiling with those big, pointy white teeth of his. Her eyes widening, Clove began to tremble, pulling the blanket up to her eyes.

"It's been a little rough," Brook replied, giving him a weary smile. "But I feel we've made some real progress with little Clove here. Isn't that right?" The ottermaid looked back at her, as if expecting an answer, but Skipper interrupted before Clove could say anything.

"I was wondering if I could talk to the little mite for a while. Y'know, ask her where her parents are and everything. I'm sure she has quite a story."

"Oh, I don't know, Skipper," she sighed, putting a paw on her forehead. "She's frightened of everything. Maybe we should ask her some other time..."

"It's alright, Brook," he said with a shrug. "Just a few simple questions won't hurt her." She sighed again, her shoulders slumping slightly.

"Well..."

_No,_ Clove thought, tugging the covers closer to her. _Don't leave Clove all alone with the Skipper Otter. Skipper tried to kill Keetch too._

"I suppose it'll be fine," she finally finished, collecting her bottles of tonic into a box. "Just give her some time to rest later, alright Skip?"

"Sure thing," he grinned, though to Clove, it looked more like a snarl. And then the nice ottermaid was gone, the warmth and light of the room seeming to disappear with her.

"So," Skipper began as he grabbed a chair, pulling it close so that he was sitting at the bedside. "What's your name, little one? Come on, don't be shy now."

"Erm... C-clove," she answered meekly.

"That's a nice name," he nodded, placing a paw on his chest. "My name's Skipper. But y'can call me Skip." She looked down, biting on her lip as she kneaded the blanket with her paws, as if eliminating wrinkles was really that interesting.

"Candied chestnuts?"

She looked up, surprised to see the otter holding up a small opened bag filled with tiny brown things.

"They're _good_." He picked one up delicately, tossing it into his mouth before his jaws crunched it around. "Want some?" He stretched his paws closer to her, but she only cowered while other dibbuns would've jumped on the snack. Seeing this odd behavior, the otter frowned in concern.

"No?" he retracted the offering. "Well, that's fine... So I see you didn't like the food then?" he smiled, pointing at the floor.

"Clove didn't eat it. Clove just wants Keetch." At that moment, she saw his expression go sour before it bounced back to its former cheerfulness.

"Really now? Now why do you want Keetch with you?" He watched as she pursed her lips, her neck shrinking as her shoulders went up.

"I just want to know so I can help him," he stated, noticing how her ears pricked.

"... Help Keetch?" she breathed. "Why? What are Otters going to do to Keetch?"

"Nothing, nothing," he exclaimed, raising his paws in the air. "But we just want to talk to him about something, but since he's... erm... asleep, it might be easier if you tell us all about it."

"And then," she gulped, her voice shrill. "And then Otters will let Keetch and Clove go free?"

"That's right," he nodded, still smiling. "Now would you mind asking a couple simple questions so we can get this over with as soon as possible?"

"Promise Keetch and Clove go free if Clove answers all the questions?"

"I promise," he replied. Her ears drooping, she gave a tiny nod, her eyes flicking down to her paws.

"Alright," he cleared his throat. "So here's the first question. How old are you?"

"Ah... um..." she fidgeted with her fingers as she struggled to calculate her age. "This many?" She held up both paws, fingers fully extended.

"Ten? Ten seasons old?" he asked, raising his eyebrows. "You seem awfully small for that age..."

"Clove doesn't know," she said hurriedly, ducking her paws under the blankets as if it would eliminate all evidence of her previous answer. "Clove's sorry. Clove didn't mean to lie. Clove doesn't know. Clove promises, Clove doesn't know."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," he chuckled nervously, holding a palm outward. "Slow down there. Heh, it's fine. If you don't know, it doesn't matter. We'll just go on to the next question then. Where are your parents?"

"P-parents?"

"Your mother and father?" he elaborated, a worried look on his face when she remained silent. "... Wait, don't tell me you don't even know where your parents are."

She shook her head slowly. "Keetch said Clove's mother might be dead because Clove doesn't remember. Keetch thinks Clove was taken away when she was baby."

"And your father?"

"Father?" she repeated, the taste of the word strange on her tongue.

"You know, your father? The beast that takes care of you and your mother?" She shook her head, still confused.

"No, but Clove has a Keetch."

"So you never knew your own parents or where you came from?" he asked, leaning closer so that she scooted backwards.

"Clove came from C-" the word snagged in her throat just as she remembered what Keetch told her.

_"Well, just remember to never tell them about the cave or Grack or me being a seer," he had said sternly. "Never."_

"Clove came from far far away," she finished quickly, hoping the otter didn't catch her mistake.

"Strange," Skipper mused. "I thought you were going to say you were from some place specifically... it sounded like it, at least."

"No," she shook her head, feeling her ears flop in the air. "Clove doesn't remember that either."

"Is that so...?" She hoped that he wouldn't ask anymore, and luckily, he decided to move on to another subject. "So what is Keetch to you? Why do you care about him so much?"

"Clove loves Keetch very very much because," she took a quick breath. "Because Keetch takes care of Clove and feeds her and never ever beats her or ties her up. Keetch loves Clove."

"Really? He doesn't beat you?"

"No," she insisted. "Keetch is a good master." _Master._ That word instantly brought some fierce glimmer of interest into Skipper's eyes.

"Then in that case," he raised his paw, startling the little rabbit as he reached out and touched her on the cheek. She cringed, her shoulders hunched up as she braced herself for a blow that would never land on her. "Then... what happened to your face?"

"Clove's face?"

She felt the realization burst in her mind as she recalled that incident where Keetch had struck her for the first time. _But Keetch didn't mean to. It was an accident. Keetch was just having a nightmare._

"Clove got that from running from Otters," she lied.

"It doesn't look like it," the otter pointed out. "It seems that you got that a couple days ago at least. You can't fool me."

"Clove's sorry. Clove's sorry," she squeaked.

"It's alright. Just tell me the truth," he said gently.

"Clove fell down," she lied again.

"You... fell down?" his eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"Yes, yes," she nodded. "Clove's very stupid and clumsy."

Skipper's throat tightened as he studied her countenance. Uneasy, the little rabbit looked down at her knees. Finally, he spoke up again. "So when and how did you meet Keetch?"

_Clove knows that one. Keetch taught Clove the lie._

"Clove used to be a slave for a..." her mind strained as it recalled her imaginary captors. "A weasel... stoat... and rat. And Vermin beat poor Clove all the time and called her 'Slave' and didn't love her. Vermin Masters tied Clove up all the time and made Clove starve in the woods until a goodbeast would come along. Then when it sees Clove, it comes to help, but Vermin would kill it. It happened all the time and scared Clove very bad.

But then Keetch comes along and wants to help Vermin... but it was a trick. Keetch put poison in Vermin's water and made them all die very fast. Then Keetch set Clove free, gave Clove a good name, and Clove followed ever since."

"Really now?" For some reason, the corners of Skipper's mouth were tugging upwards. "And just what did a rat look like?"

At that, all the previous triumph the little rabbit felt had melted away. "Erm... Rats look like... rats have pointy ears and red fur... and- and thick tails and..."

"You're describing a fox."

"Clove's sorry. Clove's just stupid."

"I don't... think so," the otter said slowly, tilting his head to the side as his brows knit together in a frown. "Then tell me what a stoat looks like. Or a weasel."

"A stoat looks like... a ferret looks like..." she stumbled about for the words, her mind scrambling wildly while her tongue suddenly felt heavy and swollen in her mouth. "Looks like... erm... looks like... very big and... scary... and scares Clove and..."

"You don't know, do you?" he asked, his voice calm under the raging torrent in his eyes.

"No," she whimpered, her eyes brimming with tears. "Clove remembers. Clove just wanted to forget. Clove's stupid."

"You were lying the entire time."

"No. No no no no no," she shook her head, sobbing again. "Keetch saved Clove. Clove saw Keetch kill, and Clove saw the blood and-"

"Blood? I thought you said he poisoned them."

"Keetch did," she squeaked.

"But how did you see their blood spill if he poisoned them?" Clove widened her eyes as she squirmed backwards, everything falling apart in her own paws. _Clove failed..._

"Tell me the truth," he said softly. "It's alright to tell us. We won't let Keetch or anybeast else hurt you, I promise."

"But Clove is telling the truth," she insisted, a chord of desperation ringing in her voice. "Clove is! Clove promise!"

"Please tell me," he said gently.

"No. No, please," she sniveled. "Clove is telling the truth."

Silence.

Slowly, Skipper exhaled a breath, running a paw over his headfur as he thought things over, the tantalizing truth just within his reach. He was so close. _So very very close._ But for some reason or another, she wasn't going to tell him anything. That fox had done something to her. He'd threatened her and beat her and enslaved her. He was just hiding behind a poor defenseless child and using her to worm his way into their hearts. He just knew it. He _had_ to find out.

"Just like last time, I didn't want to do this," he began, speaking slow and soft as if what he was saying was meant to be soothing. "But if you don't tell me the truth, we might have to hurt Keetch. Do you want that?" But saying that was a mistake.

"No. Skipper can't do that," she sobbed, her chest heaving laboriously as she breathed in and out. "Keetch has been very kind t'Clove. Please don't. No... Clove loves Keetch."

"Then tell me the truth so we don't hurt him," he said, his voice barely a whisper.

"But Clove did! Clove did tell the truth," she wept, her voice rising as she clung desperately to the lie. "Skipper promised he wouldn't hurt Keetch. Skipper promised and lied. Skipper's going to kill Keetch."

"Stop crying," he soothed, reaching to pet her on the head, but she erupted in a terrified scream that startled him.

"KEEEEEEEEEEEEETCH!"

* * *

_She'd better like this new dish I made for her, _Jolin thought sourly as she walked through the lonely village and down towards the infirmary cabin, a tray held firmly in both paws. After her fight with her uncle, the ottermaid had been in a stormy mood; and it didn't help that she was sent to do more chores for that ungrateful little brat. This whole time, everybeast had been working hard to help her and everything. She was practically treated like royalty and the most she could show for it was a bunch of screaming and a huge mess. When they tried to rescue her, she gave scratches. When they tried to clean her, she wasted good bath water and made a mess all over the floor. When they tried to feed her, all she could do was cry and send everything crashing to the ground. They had tried to be nice, but all she could do was destroy and sob. _Stupid little savage._

But as she was gathering the left-overs, she couldn't help but feel some strange force tug at the soul of her heart. She didn't know why everybeast was still being so nice to her. It was understandable that some of them were scared of her, but they were just being so patient. Half of her wanted to scold her, and yet... the other half wanted to hug her. _Well, I would've hugged her... only she'd probably scratch and bite._

And no matter how hard she tried to shove the thought out of her mind, she couldn't help but remember what it was like to be separated from somebeast very dear to her heart- to be all alone. _Only... I wasn't really all alone. At least I still had Uncle Raller and Rosco. _But still, she remembered how her parents passed on in their struggle to live, how hard they fought only to succumb to the terrible plague that enveloped their bodies and sapped away at their strength. She didn't get to see her parents' final painful moments and she was thankful for it.

And she was so scared and frightened and distraught... but at least she had some friends and family to comfort her. The little rabbit had nobody. She saw the only beast she cared about get ripped away from her. How else was she supposed to act? She was terrified out of her wits, confused, sad, and so tiny and helpless. _So I guess I'm not really in any position to scold her or anything._

So instead of getting the warmed-up left-overs that she had planned, she decided to roll up her sleeves, put on an apron, and put effort into giving the little rabbit a little welcome gift. After all, what kind of Dibbun would ever turn down a large plate of warm, buttery, blueberry-walnut pancakes smothered with syrup, sprinkled with powdered sugar and, to top it all of, a fluffy dollop of sweet-cream? She had to admit, it was a delicious sight to behold, and it took all of her willpower not to take a few nibbles from her work. But it was done and she hoped little Clove would like the dessert.

"KEEEEEEEEEETCH!" she heard somebeast scream. She only knew who that could be.

Quickly, she shuffled down to the cabin and elbowed the door open.

"Now, now," a familiar voice said quickly. "It's alright. You're safe. We wont' hurt you! Don't cry. _Please _don't cry. Just calm down... calm down _please_."

But his efforts were fruitless. The little rabbit was still crying broken-heartedly into her palms, cringing away from his touch.

"Uncle Raller, what're you doing?" she gasped. Skipper looked up at her, his face the picture of confusion and shock.

"I- I was just going to-"

"Vermin are going to _kill _Keetch!" Clove finished, trails of tears glistening on her face.

"Skipper, what did you do?" she exclaimed, red ember fury coming alive within her.

"I was just asking her about her story and where her parents are and-"

"And Skipper is gonna kill Keetch!" she cried out, bursting into even more tears.

"I'm not going to kill him!" Skipper Raller said defensively.

"How could you, Uncle?" she snapped. "I knew you were hateful and mean before, but you're threatening _her_ like _this_?!"

"Shush! Not so loud," he hissed, hoping that nobeast else heard it.

"Uncle Raller, I can't believe you'd do this. This is completely wrong."

"She just slipped something that tells me that that _vermin_," he spat the word as if it were a curse, "is just as I expected!"

She shook her head furiously.

"You're making things worse for her," she jabbed a finger at the rabbit's direction. "You don't accomplish anything by putting her through all this stress!"

"No, Jolin. I don't think you understand what kind of danger we're in here. That vermin is up to something. He did something terrible to her and she's too traumatized to tell us."

"You're being ridiculous, Skipper. It's not any vermin. It's Keetch, Brink's friend."

"So that's it then?" Skipper asked, seeming to tower over her. "You're just rebelling because you're mad at me about the whole 'Brink incident'?"

"That's not it, uncle," she replied solemnly, though he could easily tell that the topic was making her uncomfortable.

"So you're just favoring the vermin because Brink is as well?"

She crossed her arms over her chest, glancing at the little scrap of fur on the side. "Uncle Raller," she said in the calmest voice she could possibly use at the moment. "I'm not the only beast 'round here that's 'on his side' and it's not about Brink or anything like that. It's about what evidence we have here. He had no weapons, he had no intentions of harming us in his last visit, and from what I've seen and heard, Clove is more concerned for Keetch than afraid of him."

"That still doesn't change the fact that she's covering for him," he replied. "I mean, she just _acts_ like she loves him. They're obviously hiding something."

"It's just your imagination, uncle," she huffed. "It probably isn't anything important anyways."

"If it isn't important then it isn't something worth hiding," he shot back. That remark was followed closely by (except for the stifled sobbings of the Dibbun) complete and utter silence.

_He's being so stupid, immature, and controlling again, _Jolin thought to herself. _He's ruining everything! Oooooooh, __I wish he'd stop treating us all like cubs and let us do what we want. We don't need constant protection all the time. I don't need it, anyways._

"Then what are you going to do, Uncle?" she exhaled, rolling her eyes. "Throw him out into the wilderness? Interrogate him? Kill him? You can't do that, uncle. We do that, and we can't call ourselves honest beasts anymore."

"I'm going to post guards for him," he growled.

"Guards?"

"He can't be trusted."

"But did you see him? He's too skinny to be strong, he's got a few broken ribs so he definitely can't fight, and he's not that fast, since that nasty scar on his knee indicates a limp. He's harmless, uncle."

"Nobeast is harmless," he objected, nodding at the trembling figure on the bed.

"Clove wants to see Keetch," the rabbit forced out between hiccups and sobs. _She looks even smaller than before, the poor thing. He's practically all she has._

"I'm taking her to see the fox," she announced as she walked up to the bed, not even daring to look at Skipper, just in case his glare would make her change her mind.

"Jolin, stop." She hesitated at first, her next step faltering before she shoved the doubts out of her head and continued.

"There, there little one. I'll take you to see him," she whispered as she picked the little bundle up, wincing as it wrapped its arms tightly around her neck, shaking uncontrollably at the mere sight of the otter chieftain. Sighing, Jolin looked up at her uncle. He looked more angry than shocked and confused, and the ottermaid had half the mind to set the Dibbun on the ground and walk away. But she couldn't. She couldn't let her uncle control every aspect of her life. She had to have some boundaries and make decisions of her own somehow.

"Jolin," he swallowed, hurt gleaming softly in his eyes. Instantly, she felt guilt for turning against his orders and taking advantage of their bond, undermining his authority. They used to get along so well. He practically raised her up and taught her how to read and everything. But now they talked less and argued more, and she could feel their bond breaking apart at the seams. She hoped that it was just a phase that all young otters went through. She hoped for that with all her heart.

She shrugged her shoulders as she walked out the door, the conflict battling within herself. He didn't say anything or follow her, but in her mind, she pictured him leaning against the door and shaking his head in confusion and disbelief. _Does he feel just as bad as I do?_

The walk to their destination felt longer than it really was and everything was quiet and grim without the raucous otters up and awake, gamboling about as if there wasn't a care in the world. Finally, they reached the infirmary cabin and Jolin had noticed that Clove had asked absolutely no questions. She just cried and quaked in her arms constantly. It really was a bother, since she was doing the little thing a favor and she barely even acknowledged it or even said a simple 'thank you' in return. That, and the fact that the tears were not doing wonders for her favorite night gown.

Situating the child to one arm, she pushed the door open, hearing it give a loud groan as she stepped in.

"Keetch," she heard the rabbit whisper as she wriggled out of her grasp and practically crash to the floor.

"Huh? What?" came a startled but sleepy voice from the corner, but Clove ignored it as she rushed to her guardian. There was barely any light, but she could still clearly see that somebeast was laying on the bed, covered by a thin blanket while his head was propped comfortably on a fluffed pillow.

"Keetch?" she called half-heartedly, standing on the tips of her toes to finally see him. There was no answer, but that didn't matter. He was here. So she stood there, watching the gentle rise and fall of his chest, as she allowed her head to slump on the side of the bed, clutching at the blanket.

"What's going on?" Brink asked, his voice sounding more awake as he sat up from his chair.

"Brink?" she asked incredulously. "Did Skipper assign guard duty to you?"

"Guard duty?" He wrinkled his nose. "I don't believe that trash he told me about guard duty. He doesn't even plan to set one up."

"Really?" the ottermaid cocked her head to the side. "But he said he was going to..."

"Believe me," the sea otter interrupted. "I've been here all day and I'm the only beast who actually bothered to stay here for more than an hour. If Skipper really meant to put up guards, he really would've. In fact, he was talking to me about some guard duty and things like that but he was just coming 'round to pick a fight."

"Pick a fight?" she asked, raising a brow.

"In the end, we got into an argument about Keetch stayin' here. Huh, and he didn't even finish what he had to say about guard duty. I mean, he never sent anybeast in here to watch Keetch or anything, so it definately wasn't his highest priority."

"Oh..." she said, lowering her eyes and chewing slightly on her lip as she stood awkwardly at the door. He seemed so angry. _And it's all my fault, isn't it?_ There was something she wanted to say to him lately, but she just couldn't find the right time to say it, but she supposed this was the best opportunity she would probably ever get. After all, she was all alone with him right here right now, wasn't she?

"I'm... sorry for what my uncle's been putting you through, Brink. He..." she faced away as she crossed her arms over her chest as her elbows resting in her palms. She paused as she felt her heart give a painful squeeze.

"Rosco told me about you and all the trouble I put you through because I was... well," she looked at the ground. "I'm sorry for all the trouble I've caused for you. It's because of me that my uncle's been on your back recently, isn't it? I've just been making things harder for everybeast, haven't I? I really... I really didn't mean for it to end up that way. I was just being stupid and I'm... could we just be friends, then?" She looked up at him, but he was busy watching the new visitor.

Curious and embarrassed, Jolin snapped her attention back at the child. _Hm, I didn't actually think she was _this_ exhausted..._

And there at the foot of the bed, curled up and sleeping soundly, was little Clove. Jolin sighed, feeling her aching heart warm a little. Quickly, she walked over to the cabinet and pulled out a spare blanket and pillow. It didn't take long to tuck in the sleeping rabbit and move the pillow under her head. She didn't even stir.

"What do you think about her?" Brink asked suddenly, the question catching her off guard.

"Huh?" she blinked, a sad smile spreading on her face. "Oh, I think she's just very confused and afraid is all. She seems quite sweet, really, and it's adorable how much she loves that fox. She doesn't even care that he's vermin... Why'd you ask?"

He paused, leaning forward slightly in his seat. "Skipper was saying something about getting her to talk. He's convinced that Keetch is up to something."

"Well..." she fidgeted with some loose lace on her sleeve. "Skipper did question her and he said something about her giving him evidence about something. Other than that, I really don't know, Brink."

"Puh!"

She saw the scowl cross his features and she decided that it was probably best to leave now.

"Brink?" she asked quietly.

"What?"

"Is it alright if Clove stays here? Being around him seems to calm her a bit."

"I don't care."

"Thanks, Brink... and again, sorry about... well, you know," she shrugged awkwardly as she stepped outside.

"Wait a second," his voice called out before she shut the door. Her heart skipped a beat. _What's he going to say? That it's not my fault? That he doesn't think anything was wrong? That I'm really not a nuisance?_

She stopped, frozen in her position. "Yes?"

"Your uncle is an ass."

"Oh," she managed to mumble, lowering her eyes. "Good night, Brink." And then she shut the door, furthering the distance between them.

* * *

**Longest. Chapter. Yet.**

**Yes, I know that the end was a bit rushed and... of, I think. But then again, I just had to get this out fast just in case I get grounded by tomorrow. So sorry 'bout that. And as I said before, I should've been revising previous chapters. I'll get to it... eventually. ^^;**

**So, tell me what you think about the characters. The funny thing is, though, is that Skipper is partly right. If he were referring to the Jerk Keetch that took care of Clove in the beginning, he's right. Though, however much Keetch cares for Clove right now, he still pretty-much planned to use her to get more woodlanders to trust him, and from what I can see, it's working quite well. After all, who can resist Clove? **

**And as for Brink... well, this is the first time I've said the word "ass" in this story. But get used to it, since there willbe a character in the future who uses pretty much ever word in the book except for the f-bomb. I will not say that. Well, and maybe it won't say the b-word either. Who knows?**

**So please tell me your honest opinion and REVIEW. Remember, if you don't hear from me, it's because I'm grounded. **


	44. Our Own Dark Agendas

**I'll make this Author Note pretty short. First off, I'd like to apologize before-hand for any "word clumping", where two or three words would be neglected of the Space button. I blame Fanfiction for this, since for some reason, they keep doing this here and there to my texts. One update they're not there, and the next, they're there. I've weeded out as many as possible, so if they magically appear all of a sudden, blame them. (points finger accusingly)**

**Special thanks to all who reviewed since I last updated: Dunedain Ranger of the North, Persarr, Fwirl of Redwall, Firehawk43, Jarrtail, Martin the Warrior, Moomoogirl1, Mangahottie740, DPBCLover, and Awsomewriter123. Thanks guys, and sorry for making that last chapter super-duper long. ^^; It just kinda rolled along that kinda way.**

**Q and A**

**Hey guys! I'm still not grounded (yet)! :D**

**And I'm pretty proud of this chapter, so I'm hoping that you might like this. If you're confused or anything, be sure to look at the Author Notes at the bottom.**

**But um... be warned, as there are some slight implications and innuendos in this chapter. Well heck, that could just make you guys all curious and want to read this chapter. XD I didn't intend for it to be like that, but I was listening to Lady Gaga's "Poker Face" and kinda got in the mood to write like that. It's nothing too bad. Maybe I'm just over-reacting, like when I spazzed about the whole "blood-letting/sacrifice" deal with Clove. :/**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

**Our Own Dark Agendas**

* * *

Redwall could revel in its summer warmth and hold as many feasts as it wants, but somewhere in the far reaches chilling North, darker works were at play.

The coast seemed to be all aglow as the air was filled with the sounds of talk and crackling fire. The raucous group of pirates hardly seemed concerned for their safety as they lounged about their tents, striking up bawdy songs and telling grisly stories while others were wallowing in a drunken slumber. It was hardly as if they had any war going on at all.

It was about that time that Skegrag was telling his story to a group huddled around a snapping fire. Based on his wide gesticulations and the erratic waves of the fox's arms, even beasts from afar could see that he was at the pinnacle of his climax.

"And so d' brave little mousie 'ere decides 'e can play the tough 'ero. So 'e grabs 'is axe like- like this, see?" With clumsy movements, he swiped his cutlass in his paw and drew it, making everybeast flinch back, though he didn't seem to notice. Instead, he focused on getting the grip right, curling all his appendages over one side of the hilt so that the weapon seemed to sag a bit. "Like dat, only it was no sword. It was an axe. So then I sez to 'im that I'm gonna cut off 'is tail and strangle 'im with it and make da others watch and-"

He stopped in mid-sentence, suddenly realizing that there was a late arrival to the telling of his fascinating narration. The other listeners did the same, following his stare.

"Did I miss anything?" the vixen asked, smiling with pearly white teeth. A white smile against flawless fire-red fur. A lustrous combination.

Skegrag gulped nervously. "Erm... no, no." And then everybody shifted a seat as the silky vixen sat down on the sand next to them, that playful smile still dancing on her lips.

"Why'd ye stop?" she asked. "I wanna 'ear how ye strangled 'im."

The fox swallowed again, trying to remember the words for the encounter. "Er... right. Right!" And he continued his rendition of the gruesome event, though his eyes were always fixed on the vixen that stared back at him with interest.

"... and he just kept wriggling in the air. And then, I told the 'is little daughter dat 'er daddy doesn't get hanged if she can throw a dagger and cut the rope that was strangling him. So she threw it and... heh... you's know how dat turned out. _Splegh!_" He emphasized his point by jabbing a claw to his chest, sticking his tongue out as everybeast roared in laughter. Well, everybeast that is, except for the vixen. She just gave a healthy giggle and took a swig of rum.

It was then that Skegrag decided that he ought to play a gentlebeasts of sorts. "S'wot's yer name?"

"Visk."

"M'names Skegrag. Been a pirate all m'life," he bragged.

"Y'look the part," she chuckled dryly.

"So do ye 'ave a story?" he finally asked, giving her a yellow-toothed grin. She shrugged her shoulders and winked at him.

"Naaaah. Just some questions is all. Nothing can top yer story. That's fer sure." At that, Skegreg blushed under his fur as he heard several of his companions whispering excitedly into each others ears, smirking at one another as their eyes darted between the foxes.

"I was just wonderin'..." she swirled her waterskin around leisurely. "What're we gonna do when we fight those landlubber weasels again? Shouldn't we be preparin' instead'a gettin' drunk?"

Several of the beasts scowled at that remark. "Hey! No complainin'. We gotta keep our spirits up after wat happened last time."

She raised an eyebrow at that, her smile slightly fading into a snarl. "I ain't complainin'. I'm just sayin'."

A rat leaned closer, wrinkling his nose so that his lip lifted, revealing his sharp, rot-stained teeth. "Yer new."

Her black ears flicked forward. "Just got 'ere a l'il while back. Tired of thievin' from dirt-poor travelers, y'know?" The rat simply grunted in reply as the vixen tapped her chin thoughtfully, a question rolling about in her mind.

"Seems like plenty o' beasts're packin' up 'n' desertin'," she said quietly, as if half to herself.

"We practically got slaughtered th'other day. Course they're leavin'," a ferret scoffed. "They're da new ones. The ones that don't know nuthin' about a _real _pirate's life."

"Bet Reaverclaw's gonnaget their skins to line 'er tent, huh?" she grinned, a malicious light in her golden eyes.

"Now that's just da thing those idjits don't think 'bout," a weasel added. "They actually got out with their hides still attached t'their skins. Miserable dunderheads."

Confused, Visk tilted her head, narrowing her eyes calculatingly.

"But what kind'a-"

"Nyaraain'tliketheotherwarlordsthat'reallair'n'talk," somebeast slurred. Visk glanced at the direction it came from, noticing how some of the hordebeasts were leaning back as their eyes began to close, bottles of rum still in their paws. A small, temporary frown gathered around her eyes, signifying her distaste for the way the conversation was going. But then she flicked her attention back to Skegrag. And she smiled. Without a single word, her mouth stretched in a yawn as she stood up and began walking away.

Paws tucked in her pockets, she watched all the hordebeasts loafing around. This army wasn't any run-off-the-mill pirate league. She could tell. There was something unsettling about the way those hordebeasts talked. They were rude, but certainly not threatening towards her. Those types, she could handle. But there was still that way they talked about the lynx. And they just kept on interrupting her; there really was no way she could get any good inf-

_Crunchcrunchcrunchcrunchcrunch _

Her eyes sparked at the sound of harrying pawsteps. She didn't need to look to see who it was.

"Hey."

She turned around, a mask of mild surprise on her face.

"I know where all th'best grog is kept," Skegrag said, panting as he tried (and failed) to keep a cool demeanor. She shrugged and turned her back, making sure he caught that look of bored contempt.

But despite the cold rejection, the large foxdog was persistent. "I'd say yer pretty lucky I'm givin' ye a second chance at this. Y'don't know 'ow many vixens want to be wid me."

"I 'ave somewhere to go."

He stepped up beside her, keeping her pace like some lost and desperate cub without his mother. The air seemed tense around them, and she noted at how his mouth always opened as if he was going to say something, and then clamped shut less than a second later. It made him look like some landed fish.

"I'm a new recruit," she said suddenly, noticing how his ears piqued at the break in silence.

"I've been in d'horde practically 'alf m'life," he replied proudly. At that, she was suddenly interested.

"Well a big handsome young dogfox like you among all these old rough-scarred bums? I would've thought you were new," she said, swishing her crimson, beautifully-fluffed tail in wide sweeps so that it nipped playfully at his leg. "Could you tell me how this place works?"

"Sure, sure!" His tongue lolled out slightly as he nodded ardently. He had already lost in this game of seduction from the moment he first laid eyes on her.

"What's Nyara doin' t'prepare fer the next attack? She ain't idlin' 'round, is she?" Visk asked, dropping her sticky-sweet facade as she spread her arms at the scene of laziness surrounding them.

"Reaverclaw? Heh, no. She's always workin'. She'll find a secret way in or somethin'."

"But de fort looks too strong. Everythin' 'bout Greymorg looks too strong."

Her statement seemed to disturb Skegrag, but the fox was at least able to mutter some support for his commander. "She always finds a way. We dunno how, but she knows things. She always finds dings out."

She raised an eyebrow, making the twinkle come into her amber eyes. "How?"

The fox hesitated, his tongue seeming overwhelmed for once. "A ghost."

"_Ghost_?" she repeated incredulously.

"Cats- 'specially big cats- know lots 'bout ghosts. Always in legends 'n' everythin'. Most'o de time, it drives 'em mad as hell."

"How do we know if this cat _isn't _mad?" she exclaimed in a hush whisper. "Just 'cuz she sez there's a ghost doesn't mean there's-"

"Lots'o beasts've seen it."

She looked at him quizzically. "Did'ye see it?"

He nodded, his mind quickly forgetting her as his eyes went wide at the memory. "It was a season back and I wuz below-deck when I hears dis laugh come from nowhere and I turned 'round and saw a _huge _red-eyed shadow move, and in a blink of an eye, it was gone." If he wanted to seem frightened of his little imagination, he was doing a good job at it. "Lots'o us've seen the Nightshroud."

"Just cub tales," she scoffed, turning on her heel. But before she could get very far, she felt something grab her wrist and yank her backwards so that she was once more next to the fox.

"I have to go t'me tent," she stated, attempting to wrest herself from his grip. Skegrag couldn't help but grin cretinously as her dark nose wrinkled in a wicked scowl. He breathed in, his own nose filling with her scent.

"I'll come wid ye. Just fer protection. The Nightshroud likes t'prey on pretty, new vixens."

Her eyes flashed scorn. "You _wish_." She tugged her wrist free and practically waltzed away from him, melting into the crowd without so much as a backwards glance. Growling with frustration, Skegrag clenched his fists, thrusting baleful glares at the snickering sounds coming from behind. Instantly, they stopped as he began to curl his claws over his cutlass.

Eyes knit in a confused frown, he realized that he could still smell her scent. It was faint, but it was that same sweet taste to his nose. He inhaled deeply, the delicious aroma seeming closer to him. And then he remembered that he touched her. He unclenched his paw and stared curiously at his palm, his ears twitching as he tried to make heads or tails out of it.

For some odd reason, there was a smear of red color there.

* * *

Elsewhere, located deep within the maze of the dull grey walls, a lithe shadow slipped around the dark, maneuvering his way unseen. He had snuck around for nearly a whole day now, and he'd found very little useful information lately.

He turned a corner, feeling completely at ease under the cover of night. The torches burned brightly, pretty decorations for the outer wall while the guards shuffled about aimlessly in the dark. Without much thought, Slyte clambered up a rough wooden beam that leaned against a building. Nearing the top, he leapt onto an adjacent wall, making barely any noise.

And with that accomplished, he swung his legs over the side and half-climbed, half-fell down to the ground, landing solidly and without so much as a grunt. He was at the royal grounds now, and at the moment, the toughest thing left to do was to decide which pillar to infiltrate.

_That one. _

It wasn't the tallest tower, but the fact that all the windows were clustered at the very top invited a challenge. Rubbing his paws together, he snuck up to the base of it, eager for his first real climb in days. He always liked to think that he had learned to climb before he walked. Whenever he went up to reach places other beasts thought impossible, he could almost imagine the astonished eyes that stared after him in disbelief. It really was too bad that he was never meant to be seen, being a spy and all.

Digging his nails into the creases, he made his way up the stone walls, careful to watch the guards. It was easier than climbing the outer wall, that was for certain. Here, the unyielding outer walls ringing the fort blocked off the buffeting winds, and it was much safer on _this_ side of the partition, since the guards were less likely to look for intruders inside their own fortress.

Finally, after the exciting ascent, the pine marten arrived at the first window. It was a long and narrow space, the kind that only allowed sunlight to enter, so slim that a beast wouldn't even be able to stick its head out to taste the free air. But Slyte was an exception.

Pressing his snout up against the glass, his eyes roved throughout the darkness, his ears swiveling for any signs of life. To his relief, the room seemed empty and ready to be intruded. It would be a difficult way in there, but he couldn't miss out on _this _little dare. Carefully, he let his left paw drop from the wall and felt around his belt, his fingers fumbling around the many tools fastened to it.

_Ah. There it is._

He produced a tiny dagger, flipping it in the air and catching it before he wedged it into the crack that separated the window and stone. His right paw finally beginning to feel an ache, he narrowed his eyes in concentration, quickening the procedure as he carved the tool upwards, hoping for that noise that would-

_Click!_

He smiled as he pushed at the now-unlatched window, watching as it swung inward_._

Returning the dagger to his rightful place, he readjusted his hold, shoving his left arm into the newly-made opening, gripping the rim fromthe inside. With that done, he planted his footpaws firmly against the bricks while he released his right paw.

Dangling over the dizzying height, he allowed himself to shake the sweat and tension from his aching paw. And then, with swift and sure movements, he pressed his free palm against his left shoulder, bracing himself for the pain coming. And with just a little more pressure in the right direction, he heard a satisfying _crack! _as the joint shuddered down to an unnatural, downward angle. His entire body lurched for a while as the bones shifted around in his arm, but he was still able to hang on. His arduous training had taught him to handle all sorts of unorthodox pain, after all.

Telling himself to breathe slowly, the marten continued the wrenching procedure, doing the same to his right shoulder. It was harder to force it to the right place and he could swear it felt as if his collarbone was going to snap if any more strain was added to it. But he continued, knowing that it could be done. He had done it before, though in less perilous situations.

_Crack! _The success was more abrupt that he expected and it sent a spasm of shock down his arm, but the pang dulled quickly as his shoulder slanted off. Carefully, knowing that there were shorter limits to his arm-strength and mobility, the spy used his legs as leverage to angle him into the tiny window. And then, using his left arm that was still hooked on the inner window-sill, he hauled himself in, wriggling as he reeled himself through, like a thread through a particularly small (and frustrating) eye of a needle.

_The shoulders are the widest part of the body, _somebeast once told him. He was too young to remember who, but he remembered the words well enough. _Get past the shoulders, and you can wedge yerself into anythin'."_

At one point, his shoulders were pinned painfully to the sides, barely squeezing through the space as they moved and shifted freely out of the sockets. He grunted, doubling his efforts as he heard some more bones pop out of place just to fit through. He had been through worse, but that isn't to say the experience was anything enjoyable.

When he was finally inside the building, he wasted no time in pushing his shoulders back in place. It was easier than shifting them around, but it was still quite bothersome. With a slight grimace, he gripped his upper arm and jerked upwards in a single movement, hearing a _crick-crack_. Slowly, he rotated his limb, feeling the bones work with each other painlessly. Soon, the same was done with his other shoulder as well.

_Done and done_, he smirked, basking in his triumph that would hopefully go unnoticed. And then he surveyed the room, noting how the rows upon rows of empty armors glinted in a silvery color despite the light. _So this is the armory? _He inspected one of the suits, swiping a finger against it to see how much dust it collected. _Not a speck. It seems that they've been preparing for war for quite a while. _

And then he turned around and saw the thin line of golden light that lay horizontally. _The door..._

Cautiously, he approached it. There were no gaps or cracks on the wood that allowed him to peek through. _This is some high-quality door. How bothersome. _It was quite a gamble. If there were somebeast lurking onthe other side, there was no way to escape without being unnoticed... unless the witness would be a complete dunderhead. _Well, from what I've seen, they have no shortage of that here._

But there was still that option of squeezing himself out the window, heaving himself higher, and pushing himself through yet _another_ tight space. No, he wouldn't like to go through _that _again.

Pressing his ears against the door, he waited for any sound at all, the smallest _scuffle_, the wispiest _whoosh_ of air being exhaled, the faint _pitter-patter_ of fading steps, _anything._ But all he heard was his own heart _thumpety-thump_ing against his chest. But there was a better way, wasn't there?

An idea sparked in Slyte's mind, quickly catching fire. He snapped his vision back to the ghostly armors, all of them saluting, standing to attention diligently.

---

It was difficult finding one that suited his skinny frame, and eventually, he found that only one suit could possibly fit him well- the smallest, most dented sad excuse for metal-work. _Just my luck. Telling from the size of the armors, I bet that half of the beasts here are giants and the other half are morbidly obese..._

After a while, dressing was such a bother, Slyte found himself about to abandon this mad quest and just enter through another window.

_Hm..._ _But then again, I already have a steel gauntlet up my arm and I'd found a nice helm to go with this disguise. This might be interesting..._

So as silently as he could, he donned his armor (which _clinked _and _clanked_ quite often) and flexed his arms and fingers, testing the feel. It was a fair-enough fit, though his visor was a series of vertical slits staring at his eye sockets, so he could just barely see anything. _It's no wonder why these Greymorg soldiers are so damn clumsy._

He opened the door, his metal fingers fumbling at the handle. At last, he managed to fix his paw on the knob and with a deep breath, he pushed it, hearing it creak. He was momentarily blinded by the wash of light and he tried to lift his arm to shield his eyes, but he found it too heavy so he had to settle for blinking the pain back as his eyes adjusted. He turned his head to scan the area, but the spacious helm refused to turn with it, still facing forward while the beast in the shell was looking the other way. _Blast it all to the seven seas!_

With a frustrated sigh, he turned his entire body this way and that to get a proper look of his surroundings. _This is so embarrassing... if it were anybeast else but me, I'd be laughing m'head off. Nyara owes me for this._

Scanning the area, he found himself in the landing of a winding stairwell. The place was empty and quiet, and it seemed as if his efforts had all been unnecessary. Grumbling and rehearsing his gripes to his commander, Slyte struggled up the steps, gritting his teeth with every movement, his view obstructed by heavy metal. _Stupid helm! I hope somebeast eventually gets the sense to cut some proper eye holes in these things._

He almost took the darn thing off, but the risk of being seen was too great. _But they'd have pine martens here too, wouldn't they? Would they get suspicious if they just see one marten?_ But then again, his kind wasn't very common in many places.

With effort, he raised an arm, but lowered it again, submitting himself to logic rather than his frustration.

Suddenly, there were noises and there was a shadow on the wall right next to him. He wanted to shed his metal shell and make a run for it, but run where? There were no windows, no other doors, beamed ceilings, nooks, or crannies to hide here. And if he fled down the stairs, who's to say that nobeast was already down there? The wisest choice now was to keep his disguise on and act casual.

_Act casual... right... _But he felt so vulnerable out in the light like this. Anybeast could start asking him questions and everything would go wrong. Absolutely wrong.

Feeling his nerves begin to wither away to nothing, Slyte bolted back down the stairs, running away from the voices. It took a lot of effort and he found himself disoriented the entire time, but he kept thundering down, hearing the metal scrape against each other noisily. And then he tripped...

... and rolled down the stairs. He groped for something to hold on to, but his arms wouldn't move against the monstrous weight. He felt so out of control, as if he were locked in a tin barrell and tossed down an endless hill. The impact from the fall buffeted him over and over again, and he was quite sure that he would've bashed his head in if it weren't for the helm.

And finally he rolled to a stop, a groaning mess of scrap metal. His ears felt clogged, as if he were underwater, and his eyesight wasn't that much better; all he could see was a screen of black. And when he moved to pick himself up, he was too shaken to even sit up and he found himself falling flat on his back again. Moaning, he flexed his fingers experimentally, finding no pain, but only a thick numbness. _At least... nothing's broken... except my dignity._

And as he lay there, his ears recovered from the shock and there was a curious roaring noise, the sound of furious waves ramming themselves against a rocky shore. He blinked once. Twice.

"Wha'...?" he croaked, suddenly recognizing it. There were beasts laughing. _Laughing at me, no doubt. Ugh... it hurts..._

"He's drunk! Har-har!"

"He'll be feelin' _that _tomorrer!"

"I won't envy that lump on 'is head!"

_Fine. Laugh. All of you. I'll break even with you soon enough. You'll see..._

Grunting, Slyte forced himself back on his footpaws, hearing the soldiers jeer at him and make snide comments. With wavering arms, he gripped his helm and twisted it back in place, allowing him to see the swarm of faces that broke in fits of mocking laughter. He leaned against a wall as he staggered forward, feeling nauseous.

Suddenly, his entire body jolted as there was a hard blow to his back, nearly knocking him back down. And then there was a heavy weight on his shoulders as he found himself being forced forward. _Oh no. They've got me!_

"Har-har! That was a good laugh!" a gruff voice said. Slyte didn't know what to say, so he just kept silent.

"Quite a stumble there!" the voice said again as he aided him to a bench. The pine marten took his seat hesitantly, feeling his panting beginning to fog up the inside of his helm. Cautiously, he looked up to see a simply-dressed ferret sitting next to him. And to his horror, he saw the him reach for his head.

"No!" the marten shouted, feeling his voice resound in the armor in a tinny pitch.

"Erm... my... head hurts too much. Don't take the helm off," he said hurriedly as he clamped his paws on the sides of his head. The ferret just stared at him and the silence stretched on, neither of them moving. Nervous, Slyte flicked his eyes around the room, noticing that all the other vermin were too busy drinking rather than question him. _Thank goodness for beer._

"Why're y'wearin' yer armor?" the ferret asked suddenly.

"Because I... wanted to," he answered back, every syllable sounding blocky.

"And what makes you so special?" the ferret frowned.

"I don't... know..." Slyte felt his breath quickening. Faster, faster. _This nosey ferret is going to get me killed!_ Thump-thump. _They'd torture me and force me to say all I know!_ Faster, faster. _They'll make me beg for mercy and kill me anyway! _ThumpThump. _Death by whipping? _Faster, faster. _Or maybe they'd use me for archery practice? _THUMPTHUMP. _But I want to live!_ Faster, faster. _I want to go back! I don't want this! _

"STOP ASKING ME QUESTIONS!" he snapped as he stumbled away. "LEAVE ME ALONE!"

And then he ran.

He ran as if all the demons of the seven hells were chasing him. He tripped at least three times, but he always picked himself up and kept running. He caught some stray beasts staring at him as he raced past, but none of them felt the urge to think twice about him. And finally, he ran out of breath and he was in a darker, completely empty hallway. It was spacious, the ceilings high-up, interwoven with support beams. _At last..._

As quickly as he could, he stripped off the dented armor plates and discarded them on the ground unceremoniously and leapt on the wall and climbed up to the safe wooden beams high above. Panting, he allowed himself to catch his breath, watching for anybeast, but nothing happened.

But he still had unfinished business.

Leaping from beam to beam, he traveled in the way he'd come from. He realized that he'd run farther than he thought, but it didn't matter. It was an easy task to backtrack, and he later found himself nearing the "drinking room". It was a bit tricky sneaking up on the unsuspecting, drunken vermin, but he managed. There were absolutely no guards there, after all.

Slipping around them, he dodged glances behind mounds of barrels. And then he approached the casks of beer that were propped up against the walls, lines of soldiers gathering around it for seconds, or thirds, or fourths, or whatever they could take. And off to the corners, he spotted a couple other barrels, probably the ones that were next to be opened.

Silent as a shadow, Slyte snuck up to the them. Carefully, making sure nobeast was looking, he uncorked one and reached into his belt, producing a small white envelope. Swiftly, he ripped it open and tipped its powdery contents into the liquid before re-corking it. _Well, normally I would poison you all, but we don't want to give them the alert, now would we?_ _I hope you like the taste of _that _beer, anyways. I added a special ingredient for you... for "fast and immediate relief!" Hehe... that's what you get for laughing. _He sniggered to himself as he crept away, completely unnoticed by his unfortunate victims.

_Ha! If only I knew where the lavatories were, I'd board 'em up and lock 'em out. That would create a proper mess!_

Smirking to himself, he climbed back onto the safety of the high beams. The spy continued to travel down the hall, taking his shadows with him.

---

It seemed like he had been wandering around mindlessly in the dark of night. Everywhere he went, there didn't seem to be so much as a whiff of a clue. It seemed as if his luck only went as far up as his first night here at Greymorg. All he learned so far is that they have this some thing called a 'Basilisk' (_whatever that is)_, they had some 'chosen one' that was to lead them to victory, and of course, that their soldiers were very susceptible to alcohol. Other than that, absolutely nothing.

_Looks like Nyara gets to claw my hide off,_ he sighed inwardly.

He grit his teeth as he dug his claws deeper in the crevices between stones. The only place left would be the Royal palace, where all those stinkin' weasels were hiding or running around or whatever the hell crossed their royal minds. He didn't want to go there just yet. He would save that biggest challenge for last. After all, not only would it take away the fun, but he didn't want to attempt breaking in to that heavily-armed castle when he knew so little about the guard system here.

But what would he find in there? Possibly that same sort of junk- armor, beer casks, idiots. He groaned aloud. He might just be wasting his time here. Maybe he should head over to the Royal Palace, after all? For all he knew, he was just doing nothing except digging up the obvious? Maybe he should-

_Huh?_ His ears pricked. _What was that... a voice? _He had heard hundreds of gossiping beasts so far, but this voice seemed different. He couldn't quite place it, but it sounded just... different. Authoritative, deep, growling- yes. But, there was a certain edge to it that was gutteral and strange.

Rotating his shoulders for a stretch, he clambered up the pillar, listening as the soft words grew louder and louder until the voice sounded clear. By then, he was at the top, the curious sounds dripping from a cracked shaft. For some reason, he figured it was to let air in or smoke out or something, but for now, its main purpose was to let him in. Careful not to make a sound, he slid his fingers underneath the wooden barrier and lifted it, just to peek.

There was light inside. Dim light, but it illuminated the place nonetheless. The air smelled of dust, paper, and candle wax. But despite the voices, he didn't detect any movement. He felt the wind tug at his fur, giving a hollow whistle as it entered the stony confines of the keep.

_Well, the coast's clear, at least. And if I stay here for much longer, whoever's down there would probably sense the draft sooner or later._

Chewing his lip, he squeezed through the little entrance. For some reason that he couldn't explain, the place felt colder inside than out there. There was light, but it seemed to him that it was weak, unable to fend off the oncoming darkness. _Creepy weasels._

"... so are you sure about this plan then?"

"It will work." _That voice again._

Slowly, carefully, Slyte slithered through the wooden objects that seemed to weave and tangle among each other like a spider web. He saw some puddle of dim light somewhere up ahead. Crawling on his stomach, he reached his destination, peering down at the scene playing below.

He was up in the rafters, he could see that much. And below him, the area was spacious and filled with maps and old tomes and some waning candles. And smack in the center of the room, he saw several armored beasts discussing something over a table with a yellowed map pinned to it. He squinted, and as far as he could see, the parchment marked areas around Greymorg territory and then some. But other than that, nothing.

"And we've kept those pirate prisoners captive and isolated and everything?" It was the weasel at the head of the table speaking. _Is that him, then? The Ice General? Hn, pictured him taller. _But then again, he was fairly large, a brilliant blade shining on his belt, and he must've been pretty muscular, hauling all that armor around. But what astounded Slyte the most was that hulking thing standing next to the weasel.

It looked like a silver fox, only bigger, broader, and much more dangerous. And despite his even tone, his voice still sounded like a mix of snarling and barking- a grating noise that set the marten on edge.

"It has all been arranged," that thing nodded. "The Sluthes can be easy to deal with." _Sluthes? What the heck are those? And what _is _that creature? Probably some strange breed of fox that's been pumped up on special growth essences or something..._

"You sure you'll get the response we need?" asked a rat.

"Without a doubt." That creature's voice was like stone.

"And can ye guarantee the attack would take place within several days?"

The thing nodded again. _Just several days? I'd better go to Nyara with this..._

"Then it's decided then," the Ice General announced, stamping a paw on the map as if it was an official seal. "We'll get this operation started, and High-Captain Fenris will head it." The weasel nodded at the creature, his face grim despite the smirks in his subordinates' face. _Fenris, huh? High-Captain? Sounds fancy t'me._

"You're dismissed," the weasel finished. And one by one, the other beasts quickly gave a slight bow of their heads and left the room. And last to stay within the area was the Ice General and the High-Captain. But even they didn't want to linger in this eerie place. Nodding at one another, they left, and Slyte could not help but notice how that whatever-it-was allowed the smaller weasel to exit the door before him.

But he didn't have to think about that now. The door was shut and the candles were just dipping down to their demise, drowning in their own wax. He didn't have much time before he was left in complete darkness. Without much thought, he jumped down to the floor, grunting slightly from the impact before he bounced back up and inspected the map.

He licked some sweat from his upper lip as his eyes roved over it.

Right in the center of the paper was a neat drawing of Greymorg, complete with those little tiers and tiny waving banners. It seemed all on its lonesome, sitting all alone with a wide ring of trees surrounding itfrom a far distance. It would make sense though, that they wanted trees to give a wide berth so that they could see the comings and goings of their area easily.

And that ring of trees wasn't very sparse either. It seemed to him like it was followed closely by a thick forest of pines that stretched out all over the place, except for the coasts and a splotchy oval shape in the North that signified a lake. And then over that lake was a colony of rough triangles. _Mountains? Is that supposed to be a mountain range?_

And from what he could see, parts of the large pine forest was sanctioned off and divided by squiggly lines that dribbled around erratically. _Rivers? _But what made him curious were the words that were scrawled on the alloted areas. _Druid... Sluthe... Haien... Huh? What're those?_ His ears twitched at the thought. This was important. He knew it. But what were they planning? He wished he had gotten here sooner, but what's done is done and it couldn't be helped.

Quickly, he ran to one of the shelves, carefully rummaging through some dusty papers while he kept one eye on the door. Several of the scrolls were yellowed with age, blank and unused for their entire sad existence.

And finally, after a few fumbling moments, he managed to pick up a map. He unraveled it, comparing its geography and landmarks to that of the parchment on the table. It was completely different, showing clusteres of little villages amidst a sea of forest. The marten eyed the landmarks, comparing the two maps. For a second, he thought to himself that Greymorg was once called "Redwall" a long time ago. A _very _long time ago, from the looks of everything. But then again, the rivers and lakes were different, and even when there was still a skeleton of mountain ranges bordering the North, it was obvious it was a map of someplace else.

_Hm? But why would this map be of 'Mossflower?' Why would they need this? _Slyte shrugged, tucking the paper into his belt before he bent down to continue his search. It took him longer than he expected, finding a map that looked almost the same. The two maps did differ slightly, though, being that Greymorg was just a little blocky figure in the center and there weren't any boundaries between those Dru-whatever-whatevers.

And the lights were already beginning to fade away, its battle with darkness coming in to an inevitable close. With one last long look, the spy commited the regions to his memory. And then the flames went out, the darkness drowning the place.

He'd seen enough.

* * *

Thanatos frowned as he let the idea roll about in his mind. If it all worked out, it was genius at play. If it didn't, it was folly. And from what he could judge from personal experience, it was probably goingtobe the latter. The rewards for success were great, yes. But the chances of failure... at least a thousand different things could go wrong. They could be ambushed or fired upon by arrows or something.

And even if High-Captain Fenris was heading Operation Sluthe, he didn't feel much better about the situation. Was it really wise to send Fenris to do this? Even if it had been his idea, perhaps he wasn't the best candidate for the job? After all, being a wolf, the Sluthes would either avoid him or attack him.

"Fenris," the weasel spoke up, looking straight ahead.

"General?"

"Do you think it's wise that you send _yourself _to deal with the Sluthes?"

The wolf didn't even pause before he answered him. "But who else knows their customs and behavior?"

But that didn't ease any of the Ice General's worries. In fact, he suddenly felt burdened by the wolf's constant cold demeanor and total disregard towards his emotions. Even when he was still just a child, Commander Dagmor had tought him that emotions are useless things- that they cloud the mind so that wrong choices are made. He supposed he should be grateful for a soldier that would never be torn between heart and duty; but it was unsettling nonetheless.

They were alone, walking down the empty torch-lit halls. He supposed this time was just about as good as it was going to get.

"You're a strange beast, Fenris," the prince began, monitoring the wolf's reaction- hopefully some anger or scorn or hurt feelings or _something._

None.

"Don't you even feel conflicted to be talking again with your own kind? Doesn't it bother you at all that you haven't seen them for so long up until now? This _wouldn't_ be some happy little reunion for you."

"They aren't my pack."

"I know, but you're still the same-"

"Not my pack," he repeated heavily, the rumble in his gruff voice seeming to be louder.

"... Doesn't being an exile bother you?"

"No." The simple answer only seemed to aggravate the prince.

"Don't you even worry about what they'll do to you when they see you?" the weasel prodded, his countenance set in a firm frown.

"They can try."

"But don't you-"

"General," the wolf interrupted, his eyes liquid gold. "Show any fear or uncertainty, and your own will turn on you. This I know."

Thanatos stopped in mid-step, blinking in confusion. But that expression soon morphed to rage.

"Fear? _Fear?_" he snarled. "What fear? Are you calling me a coward?"

For Thanatos to lose patience with his right-paw, he must've been in fury. Any other beast would've felt their blood begin to drain. But not Fenris. If he showed any emotion, it was only expressed by a twitch of his whiskers and nothing more. The wolf merely shrugged his massive shoulders and looked down, staring the weasel in the eyes as he spoke with that chillingly flat tone of his.

"You are no coward, General. Just inexperienced."

"Inexperienced?" the weasel repeated, his nerves beginning to fray.

"_Inexperienced?! _Sure this is my first war, but what do you expect?! Everything's going wrong already! These damn pirates are going to destroy all the efforts we've put into the war on Mossflower! They'll cut off our communications and reinforcements and everything! They will delay _everything_, throwing our careful planning to waste! Winter will set in and we'll have to two more seasons before we blow their forces over with the Basilisk! By then they can regroup or rebuild or _something!_"

Again, the wolf was void of all emotion and the seething weasel just wanted to _hit_ him. He could only wonder, is physical pain an emotion?

"A good leader always stays calm and collected," Fenris stated.

"You be leader then!" he snapped. "Because _you_ are always so 'calm and collected.' Go ahead, start ruling this damn fort and you tell _me_ to be like you. A _calm and emotionless bastard!_"

It should've set the wolf off. It should've nipped at his pride or something, but he just couldn't break that blank expression on his face- that same damn permanent mask he always wore. For some reason the prince couldn't quite place, he would've preferred if the wolf snarled at him and maybe even attacked him. It would've been a response, at least. The wolf was capable of emotions, he was sure of it. He'd seen the phenomenon once or twice, but _how_?

It bothered him, that. _How_ did he keep hiding everything from the rest of the world?

Like staring out from a dark-lit window, he could see everybeast and read them like a book, but they would never see him. They would never know what was going on in that silent mind of his.

"Get out of my sight," the prince hissed as the turned the other way, fighting to recover some calm as he slowly settled his tone back to something more composed. "And just make sure you remember who you're talking to next time. Report back to me after your mission is complete."

"It will be a success," the wolf promised, and without another word or even a bow, the the captain strode away, leaving the weasel prince all alone to mull over his future.

Everything was slipping. Every single little thing that he plotted and built, crumbling through the gaps of his fingers like icy water. Where was his glory now? He trusted his seer. But no matter how many times Sigma assured him that Greymorg's future would be bright, he couldn't shake the cloud of doubt from his mind. Where was his victory now?

* * *

**And now for my long Author Commentaries...**

**Wow Visk, you really are some vermin hottie. XD And man, you were _cold_! Heh, poor Skegrag, though what do you think about her? You kinda have to read the story pretty close to draw any conclusions about her background and everything. I thought it was funny how she was reeling him in through her viciously flirtatious ways, and then dropping him like a dead fish... not the best analogy, but it was pretty good for an on-the-spot. :P**

**If you don't get what she's about right away, don't worry. I'll get to that soon. Whether you get it by now or not, I'm happy either way. If you actually got it by now, I'm not mysterious enough but I'm glad you're following along. If you didn't, then I'm being super mysterious! But if you really want to know, you can maybe look at the reviews sometime and it's likely that someone's gotten it. I've thrown a few hints here and there, after all.**

**And interestingly enough, Slyte. Oh Slyte, you're one of my favorites. :) Actually, a bit of Trivia for those of you who care, he's actually THE very first character I've invented for this fic. That's right, he's the one that started it all. It kinda started when I came up with him and asked Little Psycho Wolf if she wanted to use him, just as a suggestion. And she convinced me to write my own story. Slyte was supposed to be a rat at first, believe it or not. O_O**

**So here he is. And if you're confused about his special ability, let's just say he's a contortionist. That's right. He can bend his bones and cartilages out of their sockets so he can fit in tight spaces. Well, that's not to say he doesn't have any major weaknesses, though. More coming out on that. :) And if you're thinking that maybe his first segment was just a little unnecessary, well, this was the very first part of the chapter I wrote, so it seemed like a good idea a the time. And I thought the idea was kinda funny and showed a bit of his abilities (plus, I had already put nearly an hour and a half's work on it). :P**

**And I thoroughly enjoyed writing his thoughts. I mean, he's one of the more modern-sounding characters, in my opinion. And the fact that he thought Fenris was a fox on steroids (snorts!). XD**

**Ooooh, and then there's Fenris and Thanatos. Interesting pair and dynamics, in my opinion. Well, it's my story, so of course I'd think that! :P Well, I'm wondering if anyone figured out what they're up to (you have to read _really_ close). And what do you think about Fenris now that I've sorta clued you in about him? Hmmmm?**

**So you know the drill. Please REVIEW and tell me what you think. I know that the Greymorg plot is less anticipated than the others, but I'm really hoping that you'd at least tell me what you think. Are they sinister enough or anything? Interesting at all? Missing Ragnar's snarky rich-guy attitude? Sick of Thanatos's emo-ness? Want more about Reun's background plots of conspiracy? Want more Slyte dropping laxatives in beer? XD**

**Just tell me so I can improve on stuff. Seriously, be as harsh and evil as you want, just so long as you're completely 100% honest. Don't hold back! :)**

**Oh yes, and just as a reminder, please VOTE on my poll. Go back to Chapter 43's notes on that, if you need more details.**

***Clove shakes the sadly empty-sounding poll box: "Please vote or Jade will kill Keetch (sniffle)"* Nah... I wouldn't do that... yet... (maniacal laugh)**


	45. Deny and Defend

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**Let's try to keep this short, shall we? First off, I'm sorry that I haven't updated this story in a while. I have been busy lately with school-work, it's AP Exam season, and I'm working under this terrible and highly contagious condition that is spreading throughout schools as we speak- senioritis.**

**That, and the fact that I got 2 new bunnies around Easter, since my other bunny died (she was 10!). I spent a lot of time bonding with them, but unfortunately, one of the rabbits was already sick when we got her, and by the time we found out, she was really sick and wouldn't eat. My sister and I skipped out of school for a couple of days trying to nurse Parsley back to health but just when she was getting better, she suddenly died. ;(**

**So now we bought another one, called Bunbun (trust me, it wasn't my idea). So now we have Bunbun (the cute and cuddly one) and Minty (the creative ADD bunny). *sigh* I still miss Parsley, though. She was just a baby. *sniff***

**Onto happier news, I've updated this highly awaited chapter. Lots of dialogue in this one, so pay attention. I feel like I rushed the end though. :/**

**Special thanks to all who reviewed: Fwirl of Redwall, Persarr, Martin the Warrior, Foeseeker, Jarrtail, Mangahottie740, DPBCLover, and Foxstar24. Thanks a bunch guys. :)**

* * *

**Deny and Defend**

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Light.

That was the first thought that resonated in his mind. And then, _warmth_. He blinked blearily as he sighed, his mind beginning to clear up.

He gave a soft exhale, listening to the songbirds outside the window. But where was he? What was he doing here? As that thought crossed his mind, he stretched his legs out, feeling some obstruction block it from its full length. He ignored it, shoving at it again, though it wouldn't budge.

"Huh?" Groggily, he sat up looking at his surroundings more. He was on a comfortable bed in a spacious, rather humbly-furnished room. There was a dresser on the side, a curtained window behind him, a door on the other side, and a rather large mound on the foot of his bed. Curiosity setting in, he prodded the thing with a finger, watching it shift slightly before it settled once again.

Frowning, he grabbed at a corner of the white blanket, wary for any signs of movement before he jerked it off. And there, nestled comfortably and curled into a ball, was a very familiar sleeping form.

"Clove," he whispered, watching her whiskers twitch as she curled tighter, an arm reaching out to seek the warmth of the missing blanket.

"Clove!" he jabbed her between the ribs. Instantly, she sat up, her forehead nearly meeting in a destructive collision with his nose.

"Huh? What? Keetch?" she rubbed her eyes, recognition spreading through her face. "Keetch? KEETCH!" And at once, her arms were around his neck, restricting his windpipe.

"Otters didn't make Keetch into soup!" she exclaimed.

"What?" And at that moment, everything came back to him in a swirl of flashing images. The rain, the knife, the otter, the searing pain in his arm, the voices arguing as the air was pressed out of him... Brink.

Without a word, he lifted his right arm to view. The thick, white, itchy bandage was a very hard thing to miss.

"Move it or lose it!"

Suddenly, there were muffled shouts from outside the room and he could feel Clove's head being pressed fearfully against his chest.

"But... Pancakes!"

"Get your own, lazy-gut!"

"But it's not fair!"

And then the door burst open, revealing two arguing otters.

"I never get anythin'!" the bigger one pouted childishly.

"Act yer own age!" Brink scowled, shifting the tray of food away from the hungry otter.

"But I'm _hungry_ and-" the otter trailed off, noticing that the fox and the rabbit for the first time.

"Hey!" he waved. "Look who's awake!"

"Huh?" Brink turned around, a look of shock and nervousness on his face.

Taking his chance, the other otter made to swipe at the sugary pastries, but Brink was too fast.

And then there was more yelling, but Keetch was too shocked to even comprehend what was going on. All he knew was that Brink had already put the tray down on a table and punched the other otter in the arm while he was distracted. And then there was more yelling and arguing as the starving otter kept reaching for the food and Brink kept shifting them out of his reach.

_I must be trapped in some other horrible nightmare again..._ he thought as he flumped down on his bed, welcoming sleep. _And then Martin will come out and start throwing prophecies of doom into the middle of all this chaos._

"Will both of you stop it?! You'll wake them!" a feminine voice cut in. At that, Keetch sat up, looking curiously at the third beast at the door. She was pretty and young, but that didn't stop her from reprimanding the other two otters.

"Both of you stop acting like children! Oh, the way you two scream-" she stopped, seeming to notice him for the first time. Slowly, her irritated expression softened to something like a nervous smile. "Oh, hello. I'm Brook. It's nice to see you're up."

"H-hello," he stammered, staring between the three of them.

"Brook!" Clove greeted cheerfully.

"Oh, and you're up too Clove?" she asked, humoring the little Dibbun.

"Clove slept all night but Clove woked up!" she burbled, as if it were something she should be proud of.

"That's great," the other otter beamed, taking another swipe at the pastries before Brook slapped his paw away.

"Rosco, go outside and make yourself useful," she chided. "And stop making such a fuss about pancakes. You're not starving here."

"But I never get 'em in bed," he pouted, though Keetch could clearly see the corners of his mouth twitching upwards.

"Get seriously injured, and _then _we talk," she said, pushing the resisting otter out the door. Rosco slammed his paw against the door frame, digging his heels in the ground with all his might.

"Really? Seriously injured, eh?" he grinned devilishly. Instantly, the ottermaid had him flung outside.

"Don't even try it! Do anything, and I'll be sure to finish the job!"

"But-" **SLAM!**

It was a sound loud enough to make Keetch cringe.

"Well, that was a little troublesome," she huffed, clapping her paws together. Clove gave a little giggle, doing the same clapping motion.

"What was that strange otter?" she asked, her fears melting away as she relinquished her hold on the fox's neck a little.

"That?" Brook grinned. "Oh, that's a silly otter. He's not like that all the time, just only when he wants attention. His name's Stupid-Head."

"Stupid-Head?" she asked quizzically.

"The name fits, doesn't it?" At that, Clove tilted her head to the side as she thought deeply about it.

"Stupid-Head's very strange," Clove finally nodded while Brink rolled his eyes.

"So," Brook said cheerfully, turning to the fox. "How's that arm of yours doing? I hope it's doing better. Just yesterday I was fixing it up and Brink was hovering over me like a fussy old mid-wife going all 'Are you sure that's fine?' and 'Is he okay?' and 'I think you're wrapping it too tight' and-"

"I did not!" Brink snapped defensively, though Brook only broke into a fit of giggles.

"I-it's fine... thank you," Keetch replied, his voice feeling hoarse. "But... how long was I asleep?"

"Oh, you... haha... haven't even slept a day away, actually, " she answered, calming down as she cast a sideways glance at Brink, who coughed a bit into his fist. She got the message. She began to step backwards, towards the door. "You know what, I'll talk to you about that later. Good-bye!" And then, much to Clove's dismay, she made a quick retreat outside.

"Aw... Clove wanted to talk to Brook 'bout Keetch," the little rabbit sulked, her arms still encircling his neck.

"Alright," Brink said suddenly, picking up the tray and pressing it onto the bed, unwittingly pinning Keetch's legs under it. "Listen up, cuz this is the first _and_ last time I'm playing nanny for you, got that?"

"Ow," Keetch winced.

"Huh? What, did I hurt you or somethin'?" Brink asked hurriedly, lifting the tray again.

"No, it's fine," the fox replied awkwardly.

"Mean Otter hurted Keetch," Clove scolded, clinging ever tighter to the neck of her bed-ridden guardian. Immediately, the sea otter's demeanor made a turn-around. He looked down at the floor for a second, gripping the tray so tight, Keetch thought it would snap.

"Yeah... about that..." he began, setting it more gently on the fox's lap.

"Um... sorry I kinda... slashed yer arm there..." he pointed at the layer of bandages on the fox's arm. "You needed a couple stitches to fix it up..."

"Huh...? Oh right..." Keetch said to himself, inspecting the now-covered wound. He knew that he was supposed to say something now. All this time, he imagined his reunion with Brink to be different. Very different. With less blood involved. His eyes hardened just a fraction before he turned back to the sea otter. "But what were you thinking? That _hurt_!"

His old friend just stood there, unsure of what to say as Keetch's eyes shone. The fox remembered everything now. "And you were going to lop my head off! _Who_ blindly attacks somebeast out of nowhere like that? Who _does_ that?!"

"It wasn't _completely_ my fault."

"Oh really? Then whose fault?"

"What d'ye expect?!" Brink raved, waving his arms in the air. "Some complete stranger was walking around with a creepy-looking hood and a crying Dibbun in some stormy day! Who does _that_?!"

"I could've been a woodlander!"

"But we knew you were a fox!"

"But you nearly killed me," the fox said pointedly.

"Yeah?" Brink snorted, revealing the bloody scab on his arm. "Well you set your bodyguard on me!"

"And Clove would bite Mean Otter again," Clove interjected, baring her teeth. And then everything was silent as everybeast thought things over. Keetch was staring at his bandage, touching it as if it itched underneath all those layers. And Brink was staring at the ground with his arms crossed, trying to ignore the little Dibbun that glared daggers at him.

Finally, he decided to speak up, despite the threatening looks Keetch's 'new scarf' sent his way. "All right, you know what? I admit it; it was wrong of me to try to kill you, so I'm sorry. _Happy now?_" And although his tone was harsh before, it somehow softened a bit. "And I'm sorry for what I said and punching you in the face all those seasons back."

"Punching me in the- oh right..." the fox rubbed his chin as if he could still feel the dull pain resounding from all those seasons back. "That hurt a lot..."

"I suppose..." Brink mused, an uneasy smile creeping up on his face. "But hey, it was a pretty good right hook for somebeast bed-ridden, wasn't it?"

"I guess so..." Keetch admitted. "Though if you failed to kill a clumsy, unarmed fox- even with a sword, then I guess your fighting skills haven't improved much."

Brink only snorted irritably at that last comment. "Would you have preferred it if I did?"

Keetch shrugged at that, ignoring the weight Clove was putting on him. "Well... even if I did get cut and nearly killed by you, I suppose it just makes us both even now, doesn't it? Me for leaving you to die, and you for nearly killing me." He paused at that, his voice suddenly as heavy as stone. "And I've been meaning to tell you... I'm- I'm really sorry about what happened two seasons ago, Brink. I'm really really sorry and... I beg forg-"

"Stop that!" Brink snapped. And then Keetch looked down at his knees again, a forlorn look crossing his features before he took another hopeless breath.

"I- I understand if you don't-"

"Just let me finish!" The fox flinched at the command, his ears drooping slightly. Clove growled at the otter, though both of them ignored her threat.

"Erm... listen..." the otter cleared his voice. He never actually thought about what he was going to say if anything like this ever happened. Not the exact words, anyways. "I'm really not mad about it anymore. I mean, I'm over it now. What's done is done and I might as well get over it, roight?"

Keetch's eyes went wide with shock, and then he sighed, looking away. He dug his claws deep into the mattress, as if it was his flesh he was damaging. "But it really did happen anyways. You were hurt and I left you to die. So that's it then...? You forgive me? Just like that? I don't understand... how could you forgive me that easily after what I did to you?" He shook his head in disbelief, still looking down.

"Um..." Not knowing how to respond to that, the sea otter just looked at the window as if the curtains weren't there. _Damn... he always makes things so depressing._ He rubbed the back of his head as the silence stretched on for a little while longer.

"Keetch, what's wrong?" the rabbit suddenly whispered into his ear. "What's Mean Otter talking about?" And then she gasped, rounding on Brink with a vicious frown. "Mean Otter made Keetch sad!"

"Huh?" Keetch blinked, as if suddenly aware of her presence.

"I don't think your bodyguard and I have been properly introduced," Brink said with a winning smile, eager to move on to another topic. It wasn't the best conversation, but anything was better than that awkward silence.

"Bodyguard...?"

"Didn't you hear me that last time? She took a _chunk_ out of my arm!"

"Clove..." Keetch breathed, trying to imagine how such a skittish little creature like her could ever hurt anybeast... but then again, she hadn't ever been around anybeast besides him and Grack. That, and the fact that she did threaten Brink not too long ago.

"And let me guess, she's going to tell ye that I taste yummy, ain't that right?" Brink smirked, lowering his face so that he was at eye level with her. Clove held his stare for little more than three seconds before she pressed her face against Keetch's shoulder and started whimpering in fear.

"Keetch, Mean Otter is scaring Clove," she sniffled. "Order it to go away!"

"Oops." The otter blinked curiously. He didn't mean to scare her like that. "But I'm telling you, she was savage. She bit me... though, I guess it was out of protection." Keetch sighed, looking at his little protector. _The tables suddenly turned while I was unconscious, didn't it?_

"Clove, did you really do that?"

She hiccuped, scowling at Brink before she nodded. "Clove was just protectin' Keetch," she admitted. "But Mean Otter didn't taste yummy. Tasted like blood. Blood tastes like metal."

"Anyways, I'm Brink- not 'Mean Otter.'" He held out a paw to her. She simply stared at it with wide eyes. "You're supposed to shake it and _not_ bite it." She shook her head stubbornly while Keetch gave an exasperated sigh.

"So," Brink spoke up, retracting his paw. "What did I miss after all these years? And how did you meet up with 'er?"

"Me?" The fox's eyes widened before he recalled that he stored a back-up story for instances like this.

"I was just wandering around for the past two seasons, passing by and minding my own business. And just about a season ago, I came across a bunch of vermin with Clove as their prisoner," he paused, noticing how Brink's nostrils flared in anger. _At least he's convinced at the moment._

"At first I didn't want to help her... I would just get killed, after all. But then she started crying and an idea popped into my head. So I decided to join that rat, weasel, and stoat in their sick little game of 'Victim Fishing.'"

"Victim Fishing?" Brink repeated. Keetch shrugged coolly as he continued his narration.

"They simply beat Clove, starve her, put her in the middle of the road so that some unfortunate woodlander would help her, and then they capture whoever it was. Well, I joined them for a little while, and they were convinced I was with them. But then I slipped some foxglove extract into their drink and they died without a sound. So then I set Clove free but she wanted to stay with me. So here we are, just a traveling pair."

"And- and Keetch named Clove 'Clove,'" the rabbit piped up.

"Oh..." Brink stated, though a roguish smile quickly dominated his countenance. "So since when did ye ever start playing hero, eh? I wouldn't have handled the situation in that particular way, but you got the job done. I have to say, I'm impressed you'd actually come through like that. Makes me wish I went along." And then he gave Keetch a playful- but somewhat painful- punch in the arm. Brink barely got away with all his fingers that time.

"Clove, no biting," Keetch scolded, making the rabbit's ears lower. And then he turned to Brink again. "So what about you? What are you doing here? I thought you would've been half-way around the world by now."

"I've been staying here this entire time," Brink admitted, smiling sadly. He didn't realize that Keetch would've already taken so many leaps in his character. The last time he saw him, he didn't seem the brave kind that would go out and rescue enslaved Dibbuns. That was more of his thing, so what had he been doing this entire time? _Absolutely nothing._

"You were staying here? But I thought you were going to see the world, or at least see your family again?" The fox paused. "Were your injuries really that bad that you had to stay here?"

"Nah. I got off those crutches a long time ago."

"Then why didn't you leave?" Keetch asked, his voice suddenly tainted with urgency. _I nearly forgot. Something bad is going to happen here..._ "What are you still doing here?"

"I can't really say for sure..."

"You don't have any idea what kind of trouble you've gotten yourself into! Do you have any idea what's going to happen next? Did Martin ever warn anybeast around here? Any strange occurrences lately? Any-"

"What are you babbling about now?"

"You shouldn't have stayed here!" Keetch stressed. "Vermin are coming here!"

"_What?!_"

"They'll be here any day now!"

"What're you talkin' about?" Brink took a step backward, wishing that Keetch had a better sense of humor than this. _This has to be a joke right? I stupid joke..._

"I mean that I dragged myself all the way over here to warn you about the vermin heading your way!"

"How do you know that? ... Wait, you aren't in league with them, are you?"

"Of course not!" Keetch shook his head ardently, though Brink could see the fear and uncertainty in his eyes. "Why would I warn you if I was with them anyways?"

"Then how do you know?" Brink asked softly, lowering his paws to motion the fox to quiet down before anybeast heard this.

"What Vermin, Keetch?" Clove asked loudly before both of them shushed her harshly. Keetch swallowed, hesitating before the words tumbled out of his mouth.

"Martin the Warrior told me." It wasn't all a lie. Technically, that strange six-clawed ferret warned him about that, but Martin did help him along the way. It was Martin that guided him to go into the caves and fetch those weapons... at least, he hoped those fangs were what he was talking about. Martin clearly wanted him to warn Redwall.

"Come on. Stop playing me fer a fool, Keetch."

"I'm not lying here. Martin the Warrior came to me and told me to warn you."

"Really?" Brink threw his arms up into the air. "Then why can't he materialize right here, right now, and tell us all of this? How many and where from?"

"I- I don't know... my knowledge about this is limited."

"Keetch," Brink rolled his eyes, "Just because you have a dream of Martin running around with a sword, doesn't mean it's real. I could dream of him hopping on one foot, juggling stones and singing dirty songs and that wouldn't mean anything! Dreams are just crazy things floating around in yer head."

"But he said I had to come to save you all!"

For a moment, Brink was completely silent, his eyes darting about as he tried to control himself. He leaned against the wall, a frown cast over his face before he shook his head. "All right, Keetch, lie down and take a nice long rest."

"What?"

"I think that kick to your head was a little harder than I thought."

"Brink, I'm not crazy!" Keetch insisted. "I swear, I'm telling the truth! Vermin are coming and-"

"Just _shut up_!" Brink hissed, silencing him completely. Keetch just sat there, breathing raggedly as he tried to think of something to say- something more _convincing._ But what? Why was he the only one Martin talked to? He was a seer, not a summoner.

"Listen up, because this is a serious warning." The otter leaned in, his voice lowered. "Whatever you do, don't blab your mouth to Skipper about this 'vermin' thing. Don't give him a reason to hate you."

"B-but you all have to be warned!" But Brink ignored him as he continued slowly, his paw making a chopping motion at the air with each and every word.

"If Skipper finds out about this whole 'attack' business, he's never going to believe that Martin came to you, a _vermin..._ and I doubt he'd consider lunacy either. He'll assume that you're part of the vermin horde. So unless you want to be strung up on a tree by your neck, you keep your trap... _shut_."

Instinctively, the fox reached up and pressed his palm against his neck, as if making sure it was still intact.

"Skipper can't..." Clove interrupted weakly, trembling in fear and confusion. "What's happening?"

"And don't you tell anybeast anything Keetch has said, got it?" Brink said to her, watching as she nodded numbly.

"But I have to warn them," Keetch insisted. "I've gone all this way to warn you. I've wasted far too much time, and lives are at stake."

"Trust me, you're just imagining this entire thing."

"I'm not!" Keetch shouted. "I know it's real!"

_Click_

All beasts turned to the door, where several otters were standing. And one of them, Keetch recognized easily.

"So he's up then?" Skipper asked. Rather, it was more of a statement than a question. Keetch leaned back, swallowing as his gaze flicked between Brink and the otter chieftain. It seemed to him that Brink was drifting farther and farther away the closer the other otter came. And when Skipper was just five steps away from reaching the bed, Keetch lowered his gaze in submission as he felt everybeast's eyes on him. He could practically hear their quiet, curious murmurs buzzing about his ears.

"You're a lucky one, fox. You know that? Not many vermin get a good taste of hospitality 'round here." Even though there wasn't a single drop of anger in his voice, Keetch could picture those flinty eyes of his glistening with hatred. In the back of his mind, he could just envision the other otters crowding around even closer, all of them thinking the same exact things as their leader.

"Yes," Keetch nodded dumbly, hoping that Clove would let go of him sometime soon. She was gripping him so hard, he was sure she'd leave a mark.

"We were quite worried about you," the otter continued. "You must've traveled quite far, seeming as how tired and hungry you looked. Care to tell us what's going on in other places?" Keetch looked up meekly, parting his mouth to say something.

_"He's testing you! Tell him. You've got to tell him now!_" His own voice screamed inside him, wrenching around his gut._ "Just warn them! You have to! Martin told you that you have to!_" Now it felt like it was going to force its way up his throat if he didn't say something soon. It was going to explode right out of him.

_"Tell him! Tell him now! What are you waiting for? You've come all this way and you have to! It's what a goodbeast would do!"_

And then another voice answered that one. It was still his own voice, but it was taking another side to the matter.

_"But where's Martin now? If he really wants you to tell Skipper, he'd go ahead and tell you right now or something. Listen to Brink! He knows what he's doing. He's trying to protect you!"_

_"Then when should I warn them? WHEN?!" _It was that other voice again. The one that was dying to escape its prison of silence. _"Somebeast could die soon and when you finally tell somebeast, they'll all blame you for being too much of a coward! They'll call you a traitor for with-holding this information from them!"_

"Aren't ye goin' t'say anything?"

Keetch blinked, realizing that he's been keeping his mouth hanging open the entire time. He closed jaws, licking his lips before he started to begin again. He could feel them all trying to maintain their patience during this silence. And Brink...

In the corner of his vision, he could see his only ally standing tense like a board, his eyes set in a frown that urged him to listen to his advice.

_"Brink told me not to... and I can't let him down... but he just thinks I'm crazy. I know it was real. I saw it. I saw it!_" He squeezed his eyes shut, clenching the bedsheets as the endless, echoing thoughts pounded and swirled, filling his mind to the brim._ "Everybeast is going to die if I don't act soon enough. Am I a coward? I'm not a coward. I've changed since then. I've changed, haven't I? They'll all call me a coward if I don't tell them now. They'll call me a traitor and I'll never live it down. It'll all be the same. It'll all be the same as last time and all those terrible, nightmarish seasons of suffering would've changed nothing. I'm not bad. I'm not evil. I'm not a coward- not a traitor. I'm not. I'm NOT. I'M-"_

"I'm warning you," he blurted. It was so strange, so natural, how those words just rolled off his tongue and into their ears. They stood confused for a second, looking at him with confused stares.

"He's delirious," Brink cut in.

"But vermin are coming," Keetch continued. He had to finish what he started.

"He's seriously ill-"

"I was sent by Martin the Warrior to warn you about them-"

"- he's real stressed out so everybeast-"

"Everybeast has to prepare for war. They're coming any time now and-" he was finally stopped by a firm paw clamped around his snout. He yelped in alarm- or he would've, if he could make a single peep.

"He's not in the right mind now," Brink said, relinquishing his hold slowly, as if something lethal would pop right out of the fox's mouth if he wasn't careful. "So everyone please shut up and mind yer own business and clear out of the room so he can get some rest." There were some offended murmurs within the room while the otters scratched their heads in confusion. During this short window of time, Brink took the liberty of squeezing the fox tightly on a shoulder. Keetch winced at the grip, trying half-heartedly to wrench himself away.

From the angry looks Brink was throwing him, the fox was already feeling regrets for his outburst. Maybe if he had just talked to a more reasonable otter instead of bursting out like that? Maybe he should've waited to talk to the leader of the redstone abbey? That might've worked out better.

_What was I thinking?_

And then, out of uneasy courtesy, all the curious otters left the room (though there was a smattering of disappointed mutters). Everybeast that is, except for Brink and Skipper Raller.

"So fox," he scratched his cheek. "I think we should get your little rabbit friend out of the room, shall we? A little fresh air would do her good."

Keetch didn't know who was trembling more, him or Clove, but he nodded obediently anyways. "Erm... Clove... go outside for a moment. An otter will take good care of you," he instructed with a wavering voice. "Just do as they say and be good. No biting or scratching."

"No," she whimpered, hanging tighter. "Skipper is going to hurt Keetch and make Keetch his slave."

"Just do as I say, Clove. Nobeast is going to hurt me or anything." He gave the dangerous otter a meaningful look, noting how Skipper returned it with a dark glare. "They can't hurt me when I've done nothing wrong."

"But Clove needs to be with Keetch."

"Just get off of me. I need to do something important." He felt his frustration begin to bubble up as he fought urge to snap at her.

"No!" she shouted.

"Clove, go." He wedged his arms between them, distangling her from him.

"No!" she sobbed. "No! No! No!"

And then Skipper reached down and tugged her away from him like a weed out of the dirt.

"Keetch!" she gasped twisting her body around so that he was always in view.

"There," the burly otter said as he gently placed her on the ground. "Now go outside and have fun. Go on." She looked behind her, seeing Keetch nod solemnly.

"But..."

"I said _go_, Clove." She gave a small, scared bow of her head, her ears drooping backwards as she tip-toed away. She kept looking back, however, as if she half-expected him to change his mind.

"Go." She gripped the edge of her nightgown, and then she pushed the door open, wincing as it creaked. And then she was gone, and Keetch could feel the room begin to chill.

"So..." And now the interrogation was about to begin. "What were you saying? That vermin were coming?"

"Yes," he answered stiffly.

"And that Martin the Warrior came to you in a... dream and told you about this?"

"Yes."

"And that he chose you to warn us?"

"Yes."

"And that you were a part of this horde."

"Yes- I mean no. No!" That was his next mistake and he slapped himself mentally for it.

"Leave him alone Skipper," Brink said, stepping between the two. "He doesn't mean any of it. He's harmless." But Skipper only regarded him with a cold look as he put his paw on Brink's arm, trying to push him aside, but the stubborn otter refused to budge.

"Brink, move."

"Make me."

"I have to get this straightened out."

"_No_." The fox winced at his friend's insubordination. "You just want to get him to say something, and then you're going to prove your case to the holt. Keetch has done nothing wrong, so back off!"

"He just said-"

"You tricked him into saying it," Brink snarled, turning to the fox. "Keetch, tell him."

"I- I really didn't mean it, sir," he gulped, noticing the scowl on both otters' face.

"Then what was it you were saying about a vermin horde coming to destroy us all?"

"Martin told me in a dream. He told me to warn you all... and help you."

"Help us?" he snorted.

"I'm good at healing," Keetch admitted, looking at his medicine case in the corner of the room. "If I have the right herbs, I can fix wounds up... or- or diagnose illnesses."

"And just where did you learn such knowledge?"

"I traveled a lot, so you eventually learn things as you go along. I got hurt often along the way, and sometimes a kind woodlander family would take me in and dress my wounds, telling me which herbs would work best." The lie left ashes in his mouth, but unless he had a death wish, he shouldn't let Skipper know about Grack... or Clove's enslavement.

Skipper's eyes narrowed. "And so why would a woodlander family let you into their home? And where exactly have you been going this entire time?"

"I was just traveling throughout Mossflower, never getting too far from its boundaries. And many families were quite kind and hospitable while others were more suspicious than anything. I had no weapons, so I really wasn't much of a threat."

Slowly, a dangerous smirk began to spread along the otter's lips. "Can you list a few?"

"List a-" Keetch's mind nearly burst in panic, but he kept it together. Quickly, he chanced a glance at Brink's face, but it was still set in that immovable frown. The vermin took a deep breath, glad that the his friend was still standing between him and his interrogator- a barrier that brought some precious comfort. "There are a lot of them. Um... the Bankvoles, the... the..." he cringed, his lies lodging themselves in his throat while his mind worked frantically, trying to invent credible names. "The Willowpaws... the B-bridgefurls... Glennroll... I've forgotten a lot of them, and some of them have no last names..."

"Interesting..." Skipper mused. "I don't believe I've heard of any of them... except for the Bankvoles. There are a lot of them in that family, and it just so happens that they plan on being here tomorrow at the Nameday Feast. Hm, perhaps they'd like to enlighten us all about you and your secrets."

"A f-f-feast?" Keetch could already feel his skin going pale as the blood drained from his face.

"That's right," Raller grinned, though there was nothing cheerful or inviting about his tone. "I'm very interested in meeting them all. And you can come too. I'm sure they're _dying_ to see you again."

"That's enough," Brink interjected. "If you think he's been a part of some crazy vermin horde or he's in on a plot, you're wrong. Look at him! He's physically weak, less than mediocre with weapons, clumsy, limping, scared of everything, stammers, and he's obviously _not very bright_," at that, he shot Keetch another withering look. "There's no way any vermin would tolerate him. You know how they are. They just kill off anybeast useless to them. Just accept the fact that he's not evil. He's just... insane- for now."

Skipper opened his mouth, paused, and gave another wry smile again. "Alright then. But listen up, fox, because I'm not going to say it again; try anything suspicious, and I'll make you regret it. Until then, enjoy squirming under all your lies while they're hidden." And then he turned away and left, the air seeming lighter the second he was out of sight.

Still sweating and breathing heavily, the fox slumped back into his pillows. _What am I going to do now? The _Bankvoles_?! Couldn't I have chosen another name besides that? Any other name at all. And now that crazed otter is going to find out the truth and kill me with it. It's only a matter of time now before things happen._

"I _told_ you not to tell him," Brink seethed.

"I had to."

"For the love of... _grrraaah_. Couldn't you just keep your trap shut? And here I always thought _you_ were the smart one!"

"If I didn't, they would call me a traitor and a coward! When the vermin finally attack, they'll blame me for not warning anybeast sooner. And then they'll blame me for everybeast dying and..." he looked down in shame. "They'll blame me and call me a coward and a vermin and nothing would've changed. I'd still be nothing in their eyes but scum of the earth..."

Brink narrowed his eyes in concentration. There was a new and calculating air about his old friend. He didn't want to believe it, but it was in his gut. And what else? _What else is Keetch hiding?_

"So how much of that stuff was a lie?" The otter's question seemed to have a plummeting effect on the vermin.

"But I didn't lie! Not a single word. Honest! I'm innocent."

"Even from two seasons ago you were terrible at lying," he commented softly. "I know you're lying, and Skipper knows I know. So just calm down and tell me what's going on. Trust me and I'll see what I can do."

"But _you_ don't trust me."

"Maybe I just don't trust your state of mind..."

"It's not about that." Keetch paused. He didn't want to do this, but he'd rather Brink didn't know the horrible truth. "You're still mad about two seasons ago, aren't you? You still hate me for what I did and you still think I'm a vermin. I thought you would trust my word."

"I do trust you," Brink insisted. That accusation seemed to wound him. "It's just that I think you're hiding a few things that should really-"

"I trusted you, at least. But..." he looked down, sighing. It was like fishing for the right response, really. All he had to do was wriggle the right words in front of his face. "But I understand if you hate me still. I mean, you can try to hide it, but I know you still despise me for being what I am. A vermin. It's only natural, I think, that you would distrust me over another otter's suspicions. It's fine though. I understand if you hate me and-"

"Stop that! That's loser talk!" Brink barked, slamming a paw on the nightstand. "It's not about you being a vermin. It's about me knowing that you're hiding something."

"I see that you still don't trust me." The self-pitying words only seemed to aggravate the otter to the point of bursting.

"Fine! Fine! I don't believe _every_ word you said, but I trust that you're on our side, alright? I _trust_," he pressed that key word, "that you have good intentions. So now I'm _trusting_ you to make things less difficult for me and just shut up and eat your pancakes, alright?" Keetch sighed morosely, nodding.

"In the meantime," the otter continued, "I'll be thinking up of some way to get a Bankvole to vouch for you."

"Wait, so you don't think-"

"I _know_ that you never met any Bankvole," Brink said tersely, keeping his voice in check. "It makes me wonder, though. What are you making up? The 'healer,' the families, or the whole damn thing?"

"I really was aided by families," Keetch lied hesitantly. "But I couldn't remember their names after so long. So to convince you both, I made the names up."

"Good. So maybe there is a chance that somebeast in that feast would recognize you," Brink said, beginning to leave. "So sit still, rest up a bit. A guard might be posted outside, so if you need anything, just call, alright?"

"Thanks... Brink. And Brink?"

"What?"

"Why are you doing this?" he asked softly. "Why are you going out of your way just to help me?"

Brink sighed, as if it was such an obvious, annoying question. "I always thought you were the smart one here. We're friends, remember? I'm always gonna be on your side."

"Oh..." Keetch blinked in shock, the statement rendering him speechless. He opened his mouth to speak, but he didn't get so far as a squeak. What was he supposed to say now? His mind sought the right words, but nothing good came to mind. Nothing up to par with his statement, anyways. "Um... and I'm your friend too, I guess... uh... just remember that I'm on your side too."

"Yeah yeah yeah," Brink sighed, opening the door. "Just give that 'doomsday' speech a rest, would ya?" And with that, Brink gave him a sad smile and closed the door behind him.

---

"So how'd it go?" Rosco was lounging around beside the door, 'guarding' it.

"How'd what go?" Brink asked tersely.

"Y'know," the otter shrugged, taking the time to chew on his toothpick. "Getting along with Keetch again."

The sea otter only wrinkled his nose as he frowned. "It would be hell'uva lot easier if yer uncle would mind his own business."

"Hnnn. He's like that."

Brink flicked his gaze to his right, glaring sideways as he spotted the chieftain among a ring of his otters, his back turned to him. Brink clenched his fists. Even if they weren't loud enough to over-hear, he knew exactly what they were talking about. It made his blood boil.

"Brink?" Rosco asked uneasily, feeling the crackling silence. The otter ignored him, stomping up to the group, his face like thunder. Some of Skipper's friends stared at him as he approached them, signaling Raller to look behind.

"You!" Brink seethed. "I have a bone t'pick with you."

"Now what?"

"I'll tell ye what! I'm sick and tired of your obsessive control over everything and everybeast around! I'm sick and tired of your stupid hate towards Keetch! I'm sick and tired of your monologues and rants about keeping everybeast 'safe!' And most of all, I am sick and tired of _you_."

Slowly, Skipper Raller crossed his arms over his chest, standing to full height as he lifted his chin into the air in an opposing fashion. "Listen up, Brink. I'm leader here and it's my job to do what I feel is right and protect th' holt. If ye don't like it, ye can get out right now." The amassing crowd of otters was silent, watching as the argument rose and breathed like fire.

"Keep them safe?" Brink repeated questioningly. "Keep them _safe_?! Safe from what?"

"Safe from vermin like him!"

"Psh!" he scoffed. "You don't even see Keetch as a threat! You just hate them all, dangerous or not!"

"You know he is lying!"

"He's telling the truth, dammit!"

"You watch yer tongue," Raller growled, the periphery of his vision catching several otters herding children away from the scene. The little rabbit was there too, and she was quick to dodge away from the area and back into the fox's quarters. Although he thought it was impossible, he found his frown deepening even further.

"I'll watch my tongue when you watch where you shove your nose where it doesn't need to be," Brink said with an indignant snap. But in an instant, he found himself an inch higher as the collar of his shirt was yanked upwards by a set of strong paws.

"I am warning ye, Brink," Skipper said, his breath tickling at the sea otter's whiskers.

"Or what?" Brink replied smugly, his voice strained as he clenched his fists. "Yer gonna exile me?"

Skipper's nostrils flared, and he heard several whispers from his otters. They were all staring at them, fixated in some fascinated horror. There were friends and family among them all, and they'd known him all their lives... some he knew all his life. What must they be thinking now, seeing him like this? They were all terrified and shocked, muted by uncertainty. And there was a face among the mass, one with large brown eyes and paws shielding her open mouth, the other paw pressed over her heart in panic. _Jolin._

The otter chieftain closed his eyes and sighed.

"I'll forget this if ye drop this nonsense," he muttered before an abrupt release. Brink took a few skittered steps back, glaring at his enemy. But the otter had already turned around, parting the crowd like a pike through a shoal of minnows.

Brink felt his consciousness burst with protests and curses. He sucked in a breath through clenched teeth, prepared to yell another challenge.

"Hey! I'm still pissed here! I-" But something was holding him back. Literally.

"WHAT-" he stopped, looking down at Jolin's pleading face as she squeezed his arm tightly and shook her head. He furrowed his brow, looking back at where Skipper headed and making a half-lunge in that direction. But she still wouldn't let go. Brink hesitated a second time, swallowing as he breathed heavily. He looked around him, glaring at all the faces that stared back.

"What're _you_ gawkin' at?!"

They shuffled backwards, their mutters congealing into some incoherent babble. To just scatter, it took them a lot longer than Brink would've liked. A _lot_ longer. He found himself rooted to the spot as he squeezed his fists tighter and tighter, letting the incident stream back and forth in his mind, trying to decide on what he should've done and said. There were too many to count and he regretted his lack of action. _Should'a pegged 'im in the forehead with a fist!_

Slowly, he felt Jolin's grip on his arm softening. _She's so annoying! She's so stupid! She's just like her uncle- stubborn and nosey and so damn over-protective. _

"It's alright, Brink," she said in a soothing whisper. "I have a pl-"

"Leave me alone!" he snapped, jerking his arm away even though she'd already released him.

"Brink?" she asked, surprise in her voice.

"You just keep making things harder and harder for me, don'cha?" he scowled, his voice wounding. "This could've all been taken care of if you just stopped your stupid girlishness and fantasies and moved on. Can't ye take a hint? We were friends and nothing more. It would've been fine that way, but ye just _had_ t'keep making things worse. I could've maybe made your rock-brain of an uncle listen t'me if he wasn't in such a bad mood about me. But _no._ You just wanted to get in the way and interfere and everythin'. So here's my advice. _Stop_ clinging to me and get some other 'lucky' otter t'be your love interest because I'm not gonna be the one."

He lifted up a paw as he ticked off some points on each finger. "I wasn't the one two seasons ago, wasn't the right one a season ago, and certainly not a day ago. So _why'd_ ye think that it would be any different today? Or maybe the next day? No, it wouldn't. So just leave me alone, got that? So just get out of my face and... and... Jolin?"

He didn't notice the tears welling up in her eyes. He would've stopped if he'd noticed them sooner.

"Um... are you alright?"

She sniffled, swiping her forearm over her eyes as her lower lip quivered. There was a strangled noise coming from her as she breathed, as if her lungs were crippled and broken. And then the tears kept on falling and rolling down her face.

Brink swallowed nervously, frantically looking around them. As far as Jolin could see it, he was either worried that someone was witnessing this or that he was looking for a place to run and hide. Finally, after an audible gulp, he decided to address her as gently as possible. "Jolin. I'm really sorry. I didn't mean it. I was just so angry, y'know... and-"

"I HATE YOU!" She punctuated that statement with a harmless (but fiercely efforted) punch to the chest. And then she ran away, her arm still draped across her eyes as she fled the village and into the woods, probably to cry alone.

Brink bit his tongue as his mind roiled. Once again, he found himself in a position where he had no allies except for Keetch.

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**Ending's a bit rushed, I know. But I was in a hurry. I haven't updated in so long and my story's slipped down to Page 2 of the archives! And knowing Foeseeker, she probably hates Brink even more now. :P Well, he is a good friend, but I can't really say the same for boyfriend or anything. I just don't picture him being all nice to Jolin in this kind of situation. He's been frustrated with her sometimes and he's bottled it up until now.  
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**Everyone, please please please please please review and tell me what you think, okay? The plot's going to pick up into a real storm.  
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	46. Can You Repeat the Question?

**Alright. Sorry for the long wait but I'm finally done. Here's the next chapter and I hope you like it. I'm a little worried about this chapter, so if you see anything wrong, just let me know, 'kay?**

**Special thanks to all who reviewed last time: Fwirl of Redwall, FireHawk43, Clash of Fire, Jarrtail, Persarr, Adder of the Pit, FoxStar24, Foeseeker, Martin the Warrior of Redwall, DgShadowChocolate (for your truck-load of reviews), I. Redwings, Awsomewriter123, and Flipside Remix. Thanks you guys! :D**

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**Can You Repeat the Question?**

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_Bankvole. Bankvole. Gotta find a Bankvole..._

No matter which way Brink turned, it seemed that there was nobeast useful in sight. He mentally cursed the short and stocky build of their kind as he scanned the busy crowd once more, wishing everybeast would just shut up and stay still for just a second. But picking the voles out of this ocean of beasts was like looking for a needle in a haystack. And what if they hadn't arrived in the first place? He would've just been wasting his time then. And it was going to be sunset in a couple of hours. It would be twice as hard in the dark.

He groaned, glancing behind him to make sure Keetch was still trailing after him like he was told.

"Keetch?" he looked around. No fox in sight. "Damn it."

He shouldered his way through the crowd, ignoring the cold chill on his fur when somebeast spilled something on him. _That Keetch just has to make it difficult for me, doesn't he? But where is he? Where could he possibly be when everybeast is scared of vermin? Who would actually talk with him...? Or maybe somebeast is giving him a hard time..._ He balled his fists at that as he quickened his pace.

Up ahead, he saw a cluster of maids in Redwall garb, twittering to one another. _He can't be there... _And then Abbess Linette was scarfing food down her throat as usual... and then there was Skipper talking to Rosco about something... and that Badgerlady Meles was nowhere to be found... so where is he?

"Oh she's so adorable!" He cringed at the high glass-shattering voice. And then an entire drone of those annoying voices came raining down.

"And you saved her from vermin?"

"The poor thing. No wonder why she's so scared right now!"

"What about her parents?"

"Does she see you as her father?"

"The poor little baby. She must've been so sad and lonely..."

"It was a brave thing you did for her, saving her like that."

"It sounds so heroic! The kind of things warriors do."

"Hi there. Would little Clove like some candy?"

"No!" In his mind, he pictured her sulking behind Keetch's tail, pressing her face on his tunic like a child would on a mother's apron. Either that, or she was preparing to bite them...

_But seriously?! He's getting all this attention from the maids because he's got an orphaned rabbit with him?! And they don't even care if he's vermin...  
_

"Awwwww!" one of the mousemaids gushed, talking to Keetch. "She just absolutely adores you!"

Sighing, he shouldered his way through the throng of talkative girls, preferring to avoid time-wasting pleasantries. He reached his arm out, grabbing Keetch by the arm and yanking him backwards and out of the suffocating group.

"There," the sea otter huffed. "Saved ye. Happy?" The bewildered fox looked panicky from all the attention.

"Can't be yore first time talkin' t'maids, right?" It was meant as a joke. But then again... _Right... he has no sense of humor._

"No. But they kept talking and talking and they wouldn't let me go and..."

"KEETCH! KEETCH!" That was the panicked voice of an annoying little rabbit right there. "Keetch promised that Redwallers wouldn't hurt Clove! Redwallers are hurting Clove right no-o-ow!"

And sure enough, all those cheek-pinchings did look painful. Brink had to give her some credit for making it this far without struggling or biting.

"Leave her there, Keetch," he said. "It'll do 'er some good, being with other beasts. And that'll give us time to look for those Bankvoles of yours too."

"R-right." At the mention of that, Keetch seemed even more nervous. Like he was going to be sick. At that thought, Brink stepped away from his companion. "Come on and hurry up." Suddenly, a red blur showed up out of nowhere, ending up right next to Keetch's side.

"Ha! Slayed ya!" The rude squirrel Dibbun jabbed at Keetch's stomach with a stick. The fox stood stock-still, completely unsure of himself until the squirrel turned around, yelling out to a small band of observing Dibbuns. "I slayed 'im! I'm a warrior!"

"YAAAAAAY!" they cheered in chorus, clapping their paws as the squirrel bowed. And then he turned to Keetch, his face all grins despite the fact that he was addressing a vermin. But then again, perhaps these children were too young to know who to truly fear? Had they ever had to experience anything like that?

"Hiya there! M'names Rupp. I'm obnoxious!"

_At least he's truthful,_ Brink added inwardly.

"Um... hello?" The fox replied, touching the spot where he was "stabbed."

"So Mista Fox, me'n the gang are playin' a game! Wanna play with us?"

_And now Dibbuns are asking him to join them too? Interesting... I bet he'll be joining tea parties next... _Brink mentally snickered at the image of Keetch in a bonnet sipping tiny tea cups.

Keetch squirmed a little. "Erm... actually... I'm busy..."

"Awwwwwwwwwwww..." the Dibbuns echoed together, giving him disappointed looks that would break just about every Redwaller.

"But we need somebeast to play Slagar in the game!" Rupp pouted.

_Slagar?!_

"I'm sorry," Keetch replied, shaking his head as he inched away. wary of the overly-curious children. "I can't." Something in his features seemed to show that he knew that this game wouldn't shed him in a good light.

"NO!" Before anybeast knew it, Clove rushed up to the squirrel. "Leave Keetch alone! Get your own Keetch!"

The squirrel backed off immediately, his expression changing from shock at first and then to curiosity. "I haven't seen you before."

"That's Clove's Keetch!" she repeated aggressively.

"You look like a hare. You can play Basil."

"Don't get close to Keetch again."

"Can you say 'wotwot'?"

"This is Clove's Keetch, and no little Bushy-Tail is gonna be Keetch's new Clove."

"I'm not Bushy-Tail. I'm playing Sam Squirrel."

"Leave Keetch alone."

"What's your name again? You talk funny. Maybe you can be a Sparra instead."

"Be quiet," the rabbit sulked, growing increasingly frustrated that her point was not getting through the squirrel's head.

"Why should I be quiet? I'm trying to play a game!" Rupp grinned mirthfully at that. Suddenly, he turned to his left, waving to a mousemaid clad in Redwall robes.

"Sister Paisley! Sister Paisley!" he called, leaping up and down excitedly. "Are we going berry-picking yet?"

"Oooh! Berry-picking! Berry-picking!" the others chimed.

"Yes, yes," the mouse nodded, keeping an eye on Keetch. And then she looked down at Clove. "And you can join us too if you like."

"No" was Clove's curt reply.

Keetch sighed, rubbing his temples. The buzz of this entire festival was probably more overwhelming than he predicted. "Clove, go with them."

She looked back at him, her eyes wide with shock and fear. "What?"

"Go and play with the others. They're your age and you should enjoy yourself in their company."

"But Clove wants to stay with Keetch," she insisted.

"No. Go."

"But why?"

"Because I said so. So go." She opened her mouth to object, but thought better of it.

"Yes Keetch," she said half-heartedly.

"Don't worry," the Sister said reassuringly. "We'll have lots of fun on our little outing in the woods. There are lots of berries to pick and when we're done, you get to make jam. Would you like that?"

"What's jam?" There was a collective gasp from the Dibbuns as she said that.

"It tastes really good and sweet," the mousemaid replied, still smiling. Clove half-turned away, unsure of the tempting offer.

"This is taking _forever_," Brink whispered under his breath, making sure he was just loud enough for Keetch to hear it.

"Clove," the fox said quickly. "I've never tasted jam before. I'd like to try it." That instantly did the trick.

"Clove will make some!"

"It's great you're joining us, Clove," Sister Paisley said, gently taking hold of her paw. The Dibbun resisted at first, but allowed herself to be led away from her guardian. "Clove will get jam for Keetch!" she announced proudly as she was swallowed up by the crowd.

"Great," Brink sighed. "Now that we've got that taken care of, I guess we should get started on finding these stupid Bankvoles of yours." Keetch gave a stiff nod at that, his eyes flicking to the side. _There's something he's still not telling me._

"C'mon," he said hastily, shaking his head as if the idea could fester in his mind. He trudged forward, as if he could actually walk away from that feeling nagging in his gut. "We haven't got all day before Skip decides to turn an angry mob on ye."

"Erm... Brink..."

"What?"

The fox hesitated. "There's- maybe there's something you should know..."

Brink felt something catch in his throat. "What...?"

"The thing is-"

"HEEEEEEEEY!" The otter cringed at the familiar voice. It had been a season since he last heard it, but it was loud and raucous, bringing unwanted memories back to the surface. Memories of choking on hotroot soup...

_Sarrow._

The young squirrelmaid animatedly waved at them as if she were far away and trying to get their attention, grinning with pearly white teeth. And beside her was Tarka, still all dressed in the mild green robes.

"Brink!" she exclaimed, using her best otter accent. "It's great t'see ye again, ye big ol' seadog, you!" She punched him playfully in the arm, not even making him budge. And then she turned to Keetch, not even seeming remotely afraid... but then again, Keetch never did seem anything like a threat.

"And you must be Kitt, right? I've heard all about you!" She beamed at that before questions started bubbling from her mouth.

"So what's it like, being a vermin? Where'd you come from? How old are you? Do you really have white fur around winter? Where've you been for the last two seasons? Me? Oh, I've mainly been hanging around Salamandastron and going about with my family all around Mossflower. It really is much bigger than it seems, y'know. But after traveling it for a while, it's just a little bit simpler and-"

"I think you're talking a little too much, Sarrow," Tarka said politely- as always.

"Oh right," she giggled, half-covering her mouth with a paw. "The name's Sarrow. Sarrow Longshot. I'm a Prime Archer... I guess you can say..."

"And it's been quite a while," Tarka smiled, grabbing Keetch's paw and shaking it warmly. "Glad to see you've made it back safe and sound, Keetch."

"Ah... thank you?" Keetch murmered nervously, pulling his paw back as Brink had had enough of this little reunion.

"Yes. Great. Don't worry everybeast, I'm fine too. Good-bye, let's go."

"Bye! See you sometime!" Sarrow called out cheerfully through cupped paws, "Maybe we can have some hotroot soup sometime, Brink! Catch up on good times!" He cringed at that, wishing that annoying squirrel would just shut the hell up.

"Hotroot soup?" Keetch questioned.

"Don't ask, Keetch," Brink sniffed impatiently. "Just don't ask... By the way, did you find her annoying?"

"Annoying?" The fox paused, probably mulling over the question and the consequences of telling the truth.

"I'm not going to tattle on ye if you say so."

"She's annoying then," he admitted before hastily adding, "She was nice, though."

"Yeah?" Brink said, looking back at him as he navigated through the maze of woodlanders. "Well here's the thing with Sarrow- if she annoys you, that means she likes you. If she doesn't like you... well, then you've just dodged an arrow there." The fox had nothing to add to that. And instead of helping to search for the Bankvoles like he should've been doing, he was constantly keeping an eye out on Skipper, turning away whenever he had the slightest notion that the otter was looking back at him.

There was some trailing silence as Keetch followed Brink through the battling crowd. The fox kept on sucking in his stomach (as if he had one in the first place) and contorting his body in efforts to avoid all contact with other beasts.

Brink had to smirk at that as he parted another wall of woodlanders. "Heh. Still not used to company, eh?"

"Not really," he admitted, standing on the tips of his toes as he inched away from a careless hedgehog. _Now _those_ you have to avoid..._

The sea otter chuckled dryly, turning around. He had to admit, his efforts at conversations weren't exactly turning up nearly as well as he'd hoped. Keetch was never one to talk much in the first place, but it almost felt as if he had to force him into a conversation. But what was it that made him so skittish all the time? Certainly the horde of woodlanders would shake him up... as did Skipper's antagonistic side. But there was still that gut feeling that something was wrong, and though he tried to deny it, he knew that his instincts were almost always right.

Brink was so deep in those troubling thoughts, he almost didn't realize a vole when he saw one. But not just one vole, a whole family of them. _Are these the ones Keetch was looking for?_

He whirled around, eager to tell him the good news. "Keetch!..." He turned his head this way and that. No fox to be found. "Damn it all again."

He stomped back to where he came, seething. Couldn't that fox just stick close and do as he was told?

It didn't take much time to sort him out amongst the crowd. Especially when he was stuck at Jolin's side, the ottermaid laughing as she chatted amiably with somebeast. He stopped, hesitating. He wanted to avoid the ottermaid as much as possible, especially after what happened last time. But then again, she might be trying to sabotage them. That was bad luck right there, how she was in the wrong place at the wrong time. If he hadn't blown up at her...

"Nana Bankvole?" he heard her say, stooping down slightly as if she were talking to a Dibbun. "Nana Bankvole?" she repeated, louder this time. He could tell from the pause that somebeast replied, but he couldn't discern the words from the aimless chatter around him.

He watched as she tugged the reluctant fox by the elbow, yanking him closer to the Bankvole they were talking to. He seemed quite afraid of whoever it was.

"I just found the beast you kept on talking about," she said loudly, her grip still fastened on his arm. "Keetch, remember? You kept on talking and talking about how he kept you such good company about two seasons ago. He's come back to visit you." Keetch's eyebrows immediately shot up impossibly high. That was it. Brink just had to come closer to listen in.

"No, I don't remember, dearie," the feeble voice replied, barely audible.

"You don't remember?" Jolin gave an exaggerated gasp. "Oh, but he's been telling me all about those delicious pies you made. What was it again... your peach cobbler pie? He said he'd never tasted anything like it in the world." She turned to the fox. "Didn't you, Keetch?"

The fox hesitated, completely overwhelmed before he gave an ardent nod of his head.

"The best," he added meekly. And now Brink was close enough to see who they were talking to- a frail elderly bankvole who seemed to teeter, even with a cane. She had loose, greying skin and her smile was all pink gums as she looked up at them crookedly from over the spectacles balanced on her nose. She even wore a shawl in the middle of summer. _She is as ancient as it gets._

"Ah..." she breathed, _tsk_ing to herself as she shook her head from side to side in self-disappointment. "I'm sorry, dearie. I completely forgot!" She gave an attempted laugh, only for it to end in sad coughs.

All three beasts held their breath as the old vole regained her breath, smiling at Keetch. "Now I remember! Came to me two seasons ago, didn't you? Cold and hungry, scrawny little thing you were! Fed you up good and proper! Ha!" She took a step toward the poor fox, and Brink couldn't help but notice his friend squirm, only to be held fast by the ottermaid.

"And look at you," Nana said, in almost a scolding tone. "I worked my poor paws to the bone to make you fat and healthy. And just look at where my hard work's gone. You're all skin and bones now, you silly little young'n!" Hooking one end of her cane to her arm, she reached up to touch his face. The fox cringed, uncertainty flitting through his face as she grabbed hold of each cheek and pinched. From the way Keetch's tail flared out like a bottlebrush, Brink determined that the vole was deceivingly strong.

The sea otter would've laughed, if only he had an idea about what was going on.

Keetch pulled away, rubbing at his smarting cheeks. "Nice to see you too... uh..." A quick jab in the ribs from Jolin's elbow instantly sparked his memory.

"Nana Bankvole," he exhaled painfully, holding his wounded ribcage. From Jolin's apologetic reaction, she obviously forgot that that was his sore spot.

"Now I've got to introduce you to my family..." she latched her paw on his wrist. "Now what was your name again?"

"Keetch."

"Ah, Keetch. Such a wonderful name..."

_And she probably would've said Scumswab is a wonderful name too._

"Jenn, Furly, Brewston," Nana said in that willowy voice of hers. Three middle-aged voles turned to her, their eyes popping at the sight of her companion.

"H-hello there," they said in disjointed mumbles.

"Nice to meet you..." Keetch looked like he was greeting his toes at that moment.

"Now I've raised my children to be gentlebeasts," the tough old biscuit humphed. "Be polite now. This is Keetch. I told you all about him and how he stayed with me some time ago in the winter. The poor dearie!" Her three now-grown children just stared owlishly at the stranger while their mother prattled on about some details and stories that had never once touched their ears.

"And you should've seen the mess he was in! Took me two hours to comb all those ticks from his fur, I swear! You young'ns aren't grateful for having grown up with parents. The poor dearie must've never heard of the word 'hygene' even once in his life before he met me! Filthy little scrap he was! Why, and he came with no manners either! Always spittin' and hollerin' like some drunkard from a pirate slum! But I was a good influence on him and-"

Brink suddenly had the feeling that he was being watched. He flicked his eyes to the side, making half-eye contact with Jolin before she turned her head away, crossing her arms over her chest as she raised her nose up into the air. _Raise it any higher, and if it were raining, you'd drown!_

He knew he wanted to avoid her as much as possible, but he just wanted to know- what was going on with Keetch? How'd she find the family?

He stepped up to her, his paws behind his back. "Um... so how'd you find them?"

"How'd I find who?" she asked dismissively, as if he were some scum not worth wasting breath on.

"How'd you find the family that Keetch was looking for... and HEY!" a sudden realization burst into his mind. "How'd you find out what we were looking for anways?"

She shot him an angry look. "I wasn't _spying_, if that's what you're wondering."

"It was a private discussion between me, Keetch, and yer crazy uncle. And only Keetch and I knew about scramblin' around to find 'em. You eavesdropped!"

"I simply overheard is all! Honestly, Brink, your mouth can get so loud, you'd have to blame everybeast for having ears next time you accuse them of 'spying!'"

"But how?" he sputtered.

"Huh," she cocked her head to the side. "Simple, really. Just take a simple cup, poke a whole through it, poke on end of string through it and fasten it with a knot, and do the same with another cup so that there's a cup on both ends. Then, take one cup and put it in the place you want to hear from and listen in through the other end."

"Psh! That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard!"

"Fine then. Don't believe me."

"Then where'd you keep the cup?"

"It's in the chimney, so I listened through the back of the building." She smiled a little at that. "Rosco and I have one o' those in almost every cabin. We hide the cups in the log storage behind each house." Brink stared, horrified at the thought of every little secret leaking out to her.

"But of course, I'd _never_ spy unless I needed to!" she flustered. "I've grown up. I respect others' privacy."

"Riiiiiight..." he said, an extra large dose of sarcasm in his tone.

"Don't you get mad at me, Brink!" she hissed, "I had good intentions and-"

"Youm two gettin' 'long? Youse bees toilkin' for quite a long time... Burr... hurrhurr!" a mole rambled, his accent thick with a little hint of alcohol.

"Uh..." Jolin blushed at what he was suggesting. "No, no, no, Foremole Dirrig! Nothing of the sort! Just a little friendly chatting is all..."

The cheerful mole winked at her, bumbling away. "W'ever youm says, mizz Jolie. W'ever youm says." She giggled daintily while Brink ignored the mole as he elbowed him playfully in the sides. She breathed out when he was finally gone.

"Maybe we should discuss this somewhere more private?" she asked.

He shrugged. "Why not?"

* * *

"Drink, Rosco? It'll do ye good!"

But for some reason, the rambunctious otter waved the offer away, not even stopping for a casual chat. The other otters shrugged at his behavior, preferring to go right back to their drinking game, probably holding a contest on who would be able to see the bottom of the mug first.

But Rosco had business to attend to. And he could see Skipper Raller sitting by himself, leaning on a barrel as he surveyed the crowd, a bored but focused expression on his face. He approached the stern otter with a winning smile.

"How's it going, uncle?"

"Not bad. Enjoying yerself?"

"Are you kidding?!" he laughed mirthlessly. "I'm so nervous, I feel like my insides are going to liquify and leave me as a puddle of tears!"

"Aye, and you have a right to be," Raller replied, lifting his mug to point a claw at him. "It's a pretty big day for ye. Biggest in your life... until you get a cub."

"Yeah yeah yeah..." He blushed, rubbing the back of his head. But Skipper was busy looking out at something farther into the crowd. He was watching Keetch again.

"Hey Skip?"

"Hm?"

"Could ye do me a favor?"

The otter chieftain rolled his eyes. "Boy, whenever you say something like that, I know I'm gonna have to dig you out of your grave or somethin'."

"No, uncle. I'm serious." There was something in his voice- some quality of solemn steel that made Skipper stay quiet and listen. Rosco sighed, not sure how he was going to approach the subject. Nice and slow. That was how Jolin usually got her way._ You can't go wrong with starting with compliments,_ she'd always say. _And try to be half on his side and half on the other. If you can't compromise, pretend to cry and make him feel guilty._

Well, it was different for a full-grown male otter to start bawling buckets of tears. He hoped it didn't have to get to that.

"Uncle, I just want to say thank you for always being there for me before and after Momma and Papa died. You were great, kinda like a real father to me." So far so good. "But..."

_But..._ that was a word that pretty much means something bad is going to be said.

"But Uncle, sometimes I think you're a little... eh... unfocused."

"Unfocused?" Raller's eyebrow twitched.

"Unfocused in our lives," he clarified. "Me'n Jolin's and Tarka's lives."

"What?!"

"Just let me explain, uncle. The thing is, you've been so upset about Aver's incident, you can't even let it go. It's destroying our family during the most precious moments. Sometimes when you're gone, probably pretty far until you find the first hint of trouble, I miss you. I was a little cub that missed you and thought you were going off to fight evil like heroes. And well, it bothers me that you'd rather kill than be near yer family."

"I go out to fight to protect innocent beasts like you and yer sister," he snorted.

"But here's the thing," Rosco said pointedly, pressing his foreclaw over his fingers as he counted the examples. "You weren't there for my initiation to adulthood, you changed yer plans to our big boat trip, you missed Tarka's initiation as Abbey Recorder, you missed Jolin's performance a couple feasts ago, and now you're going to mess this up."

"Well I'm sorry that I wasn't there to ignore all other problems and watch you all grow up and become independent," the Skipper replied, his voice with a razor edge.

"I'm not saying you're neglecting us, uncle," Rosco defended. "You're a goodbeast. You raised me and Jolin up even though you didn't have a wife to help ye out. You could've dumped us off at the Abbey or given us to another family, but you chose to be there for your family as much as possible. You loved us and wanted to be a big part of our lives. And then you went ahead and took Tarka in as one of yer own. Nobeast could ask for much more generosity, but Skip... this is important to me. This day is the biggest in my life so far."

"So what?"

"So, I want you to let this whole "Keetch" thing come to rest. Just for today is all I ask. I want you to be able to remember this as a happy day, and smile for me. It's not every day that yer nephew drops down on one knee, y'know."

The otter had to smile at that. "Yeah, I get'cha. But that fox-"

"That fox is fine, uncle. Please, it's all I'm asking for. You gave me your old ring for a reason, and that's because you want me to be happy whenever I see that jewelry on Brook's finger. You want me to live a good life. How can this day be everything I imagined if my uncle wasn't there to drop everything just for me?"

"But-"

"Just do it for me? Uncle? Please?"

"Oh come on now, not that look!"

Rosco made his lip quiver as he batted his eyes, making his eyes all watery. "I'll cry..." he sniffled.

That was it. Skipper just had to burst out laughing. "Hahahahahahaha!" he slammed a fist against the table. "Haven't seen ye do that one since you were a pup that wanted t'go swimming down that little waterfall!"

"But it worked," Rosco beamed.

"Aye, it did." By then, Raller was wiping a tear from his eyes. "And so now you want me to drop all charges for the entire day?"

"Yeah," he nodded. "Just for tonight. Just do it for me, would'ya? Give me a break?"

The otter sighed. "Fine, fine. You get it. I'll ignore the fox- but just for today."

"That's great, uncle!"

Raller held up a claw. "On one condition, though... you have to stay sober."

"Stay sober?"

"The entire night."

"Well," he chuckled. "That's what I was plannin'. I wouldn't want to remember today to be a messy blur, now would I?"

The otter chieftain clapped his nephew on the shoulder. "Can't believe my eyes, Rosco. You're growin' up."

"Yup!" And then his voice got serious. "So a deal's a deal, right? But now for the official seal- the biggest promise uncle and nephew can make." He raised his paw, his smallest claw extended. "Ready?"

Skipper just had to smile at that childish game of theirs. "Pinky promise." He did the same, curling his smallest claw over Rosco's. And then they shook on it.

* * *

Meanwhile, there was another discussion going on between otters that wasn't quite as heart-warming.

While everybeast was outside, witnessing the perfect sunset, Brink and Jolin were indoors in the one place they were quite sure would be isolated- the Infirmary. There would hopefully be nobeast sick that would come barging into their private conversation.

"So no strange spy tools here?" Brink clarified, leaning against the wall.

"I told you that it was just a childish game," she said pointedly. "I don't do that stuff anymore."

"Fine, fine. Whatever," he shrugged. "So let's get this over with."

"Right," the ottermaid nodded, sitting on a fresh bed. "But I want answers too. So how 'bout we play a game? I answer one question and then you answer another. How 'bout that?"

"Fine with me," he cleared his throat. "First question... just how did you find that volewife in the first place? I mean, did you have to ask everybeast?"

"Ah, no," she answered coolly, picking some lint from a blanket as she smoothed it out. "Remember when I'd be gone for a while sometimes? Well, I was off visiting the poor old volewife. She was living all alone ever since her husband died, and her children didn't have homes big enough for her to move in. So besides visitors that brought her some food, she was living all in her lonesome."

"Then why didn't she move into Redwall? They can't turn anybeast away."

"She didn't want to be a burden to strangers," Jolin replied. "And anyways, she was so very feeble and old, one of her children was still making renovations and arrangements to get her to move in. She was... not in the right mind, you see."

Brink raised an eyebrow. "Y'mean she's looney?"

"Senile," she said curtly. "Senile is a better word for it."

By then, Brink was able to piece everything together. "Wait, so this Nana Bankvole is crazy, so she has no grips with reality so..." His eyes widened with the realization.

"So yes," Jolin admitted. "She doesn't actually know Keetch. I thought you would need at least one alibi- and fast. So I just made it sound like she had company- something... y'know..." she shrugged her shoulders, casting a guilty look. "Something she'd be very willing to believe... oh dear..." She clapped her paws over her mouth and shook her head. "I've just done something dreadful, didn't I?"

"Huh?"

"I didn't really think about it that much... I was just thinking that there was no harm in doing that. I was helping you and Keetch, right? And Nana was happy with the idea of having company, wasn't she? I mean, I thought it was just a little lie to make everyone feel better. No harm done. But I didn't really think about it that much. I didn't think about how I was actually..." she gulped, as if the next words were choking her windpipe. "... like I was actually _taking advantage_ of a poor beast that doesn't know any better."

She clapped her paws on her arms, as if hugging herself. "I've never done anything like that before..."

"Uh... hey," Brink called softly, unconsciously inching towards the door. "It's alright. No harm done, right? What the old beast knows won't kill her."

"Maybe, but everybeast might get a clue at what went on..."

Brink smirked. "Not if Nana is going to keep scolding everybeast. She'd probably beat somebeast over the head with a rolling pin if they say she's lying or going insane."

Jolin had to giggle at that. It was true.

"So why'd ye decide to help me'n Keetch? Thought you hated me after what happened and what I said?"

She frowned then, all good feelings drowned by that memory. "Oh. _That._ Well, I have one question, remember? You ask a question, I answer, then I ask a question-"

"Alright, alright," he rolled his eyes. "Go for it."

She paused. "Do you honestly think that Keetch has anything to do with any bankvole family? I mean, do you think he's changed over time?"

"Nope."

"Not even a little? C'mon, Brink. Be honest."

"I think he's changed for the best then," he said hastily. "But even if he's lying about that Bankvole thing, he probably has his own reasons- and good reasons too. My next question, why did you want to help me and Keetch after what I said?"

She shrugged nonchalantly, though she had trouble hiding her frustration. "Oh, no reason at all. It was out of the goodness of my heart, really." There was plenty of sarcasm there.

"Oh come on now! You just wanted t'make me feel guilty. Admit it."

"Maybe I did, maybe I didn't," she humphed.

"Fine. Next question. And get it over with."

"Here's my next question..." she fixed him with a piercing look. "Did I really bother you? I mean, did I annoy you whenever you were around me?"

_YES!!! YES you did!_

"No. Not really. Just distracting sometimes, but not really annoying. Now your uncle, _he_ was annoying." That response seemed to lighten her shoulders a little before she wrinkled her nose.

"Not like I care or regret it or anything."

"Sure."

A mutual silence.

"So are we done then?" Jolin finally spoke, standing up. "No more questions?"

"Hold on," he said, holding a paw in the air as a gesture to wait. "Just one more."

She rolled her paw on her wrist, urging him to continue so she didn't have to be around him any more.

"Just why did you like me in the first place? I mean, of all the otters around here... Wade, Barlow, Ruddy... y'know..." And then he paused, realizing how awkward he sounded. "B-but if you don't wanna tell me, that's fine."

She shook her head, smiling some secret smile. "You mean y'don't remember?"

He raised a brow. "Remember? Remember what?"

"That first time we met, remember?" He shook his head.

She chuckled. "When I first saw you, you were injured and we weren't sure if you were going to make it. One day, I came to visit and bring some soup. You were still feverish and unconscious, so I sat down on the bed and watched you while everybeast else was taking a break. And then you said something to me."

He leaned closer, puzzled. "What did I say?"

"You opened your eyes and I just sat there, completely surprised. But you were still half-asleep. You opened your eyes and said 'Mom? Mom, I'm sorry.'"

At that, the sea otter's jaw dropped.

"And then you said, 'I'm sorry I made you and Pops worry 'bout me. And Cora too. I'm sorry.' And then you stopped, breathing soundly again."

"So then I held your paw," she clasped her own paw over the other, her mind on the sweet memory. "And then I told you, 'It's alright. It's alright. Just rest and keep resting. We love you and we want you t'make it. So be strong, alright?'"

He shook his head in disbelief. "I don't remember that."

"But I remember," she smiled. "I remember it perfectly. And from then on, I wanted to make sure you made it. No matter what. And that's why..."

"Oh."

More silence. Heavy silence.

"So you want to ask yer question now?"

"Well..." she began, "I remember asking you about your family after you woke up. You didn't feel like talking then, since you were still mad at Keetch. So I never brought it up. So... can I hear a bit about your family now? Why you left and everything?"

"Heh," he shrugged. He usually liked to keep these things to himself, but he usually didn't have any serious debts to pay.

"Guess I owe ya one anyways," he sighed. "So it started where I was born, Seafoam Isle. A little fishing place with ports. Grew up there and had a little sister and a mother that baked bread and everything. M'pops was a fisherbeast, and sometimes he'd bring me with him. Loved those trips." He smiled at the memory of hauling nets and having his father-son chats. "But I got restless. I kept hearing sailors talk 'bout the world out there and all those adventures. My parents were against it, which made me want to hear them more and more..."

* * *

**Logic-wise, I know that everything's a little shaky, but everything works out in fantasies, right? Right? Never mind. But just to refresh your memories on the Hotroot Soup deal, Brink had the unfortunate experience of being tricked into eating it. It wouldn't be serious or anything- if only he wasn't allergic to pepper. O_O  
**

**Please review and tell me what you think.** **Funny? Weird? Sad? Still hating Skipper as much? Wanting to know more about Brink's past? Just keep reading. I'm done with that, so I'll update with it in about 3 more days. :)**

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	47. Let Me Go

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**Sorry for the long delay. I had this done but decided to edit this a little more, so it ended up like this instead. :)**

**Special thanks to all who reviewed recently: Fwirl of Redwall, Foeseeker, Persarr, Martin the Warrior, Sanfrasm, DarthCraftus, Jarrtail, Azkazan, and Foxstar24. You guys are just awesome and I love you all! *hugs* :D**

**Summer is just on the horizon, so I'll be able to write a lot more frequently. Which reminds me, there's a nice little website for all of you to see called Redscape. It's a Redwall Fanfiction Writing contest that you all might like to participate in. Just remember to replace the (dot) with an actual period, and this is also a site meant for teens and adults, though if you're reading my fics, I think you should be fine.  
**

**http://z3(dot)invisionfree(dot)com/Redscape/index(dot)php?act=idx**

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**Let Me Go**

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**

"Guess I owe ya one anyways," he sighed. She sat back down on the bed again, waiting for his story.

Brink took the time to clear his throat. "Oh just where the Hell do I begin... So, uh... I guess it started where I was born, Seafoam Isle. A little fishing place with ports. Grew up there and had a little sister and a mother that baked bread and everything. M'Pops was a fisherbeast, and sometimes he'd bring me with him. Loved those trips." He smiled at the memory of hauling nets and having his father-son chats. "But I got restless. I kept hearing sailors talk 'bout the world out there and all those adventures. My parents were against it, which made me want t'hear 'em more and more..."

* * *

_The young otter snuck around the corner of the hut, keeping an eye for any movement around him. He wasn't used to creeping around in shadows like some thief, but he meant no harm in anything. He was just curious was all. Without a sound, he crept away from the village and up to the East Port, where a ship was sitting lazily. _

_He had heard rollicking tails of high-sea perils and dangerous fiends. Those sorts of things always got him riled up. But his feelings then were nothing compared to the initial shock that surged within him when Captain Rung said something. "Come aboard the Starfish sometime," he winked. "'Would like to make a proposition wi' ya!" The invitation made him giddy with excitement, but he knew what his parents would say. But they wouldn't understand. They had no idea about him...  
_

_He thumped on the side and it didn't take too much wait before another sea otter peeked from over the rail. _

_"What?"_

_"It's me, Brink," he answered eagerly. "Captain Rung said he'd like t'see me sometime!"_

_The head disappeared for a moment, almost instantly replaced by a rope ladder. "Roight. Climb up." The otter did as he was told, though he did so in a rather clumsy fashion. The place wasn't big or anything, but it was decent and it smelled of brine and adventure- of unknown places and far-off lands. And he would have no trouble fitting in with the rest of them, as they were all otters just as he was. They were all a bit older than him, but not by much, and they seemed to be the perfect kind of company- the friendly kind that would be like big brothers to you and let you drink and everything.  
_

_"Mister Rufeshodd!" a voice boomed. Brink turned around, his paw grabbed from his side to be shaken heartily by a burly tattooed otter._

_"Glad ye could come, matey!"_

_"Yessir," he saluted brightly. "Anything t'see a real ship, sir." The old otter laughed, his belly shaking slightly. _

_"Hahahaa! Polite one, ye are... well, as far as us otters go. No need for any 'sirs,' Brink. We're all partners 'ere."_

_"Really? So you teach each other fighting moves too?"_

_"Yup!" Captain Rung bragged. "Sparrin' an' tradin' and treasurin' and swashbucklin', all in a days work!"_

_"Oh wow... and you all stay on this ship?"_

_"Where else would we stay, lad? The crow's nest?"_

_"So where are ye going next again? Green Isle? You said I might be sail-worthy, didn't you?" He was breathless by the end of that statement, excited and hopeful and naive. A potentially dangerous combination. But the otter captain didn't think so. Never even crossed his mind._

_"Sail-worthy? Brink, I'd say ye were born for adventure. Look at'ya! Strong, eager, bright, young... with Badgerlord Rathor prowling the waters, these times are of high seas and wild quests. I think ye can handle it."_

_Brink just had to beam at the compliment. "Really?"_

_"Would I lie t'ye?"_

_"Never!"_

_"Ahahahaaar! Good lad!" He clapped Brink on the back, ignoring the small grunt as the almost-recruit received the impact._

_"So when are ye leaving?"_

_"Tomorrer... though lad... we could wait an extra day or two if it'll help ye decide. We need a strong set o' paws t'help us, y'know."_

_"Oh wow... really?" he grinned. But that expression melted off his face as reality dawned on him. He swallowed a disappointing lump in his throat. "Well, I would. I'd take the ropes in a heartbeat, Captain. Y'know I would, but my old Pops and me Mom are just so hard-headed and they don't get me at all. They want me t'stay and be a fisherbeast fer the rest'o my life. Boring and unfair, ain't it?"_

_The captain stroked his chin. "Aye, lad. Yes it is unfair... yore goin' t'be staying on the same old island, inheriting the same old home, and making a living off the salty net and boring fishing boat. But... ye can always run away and sneak onboard, mate. Did that when I was yer age, and look at me now! Hmmm... and now that I just mentioned it... you remind me of a certain beast I know very well..."_

_"Who?"_

_The otter grinned devilishly. "I see 'im every day when I look into still waters, mate!"  
_

_"You?!" Brink's eyes were wide as dinner plates. _

_"Aye!" he guffawed. "Picture that, Brink! A Li'l Me running around the deck like he owns the place! HA! And they say that it's a nightmare with just one o' me on board! So what'ya say? Got the guts t'stand up fer yourself? If you don't now, you'll never be able t'stand up t'vermin."_

_He stayed silent, his lips trying to forms words. "But Mom and Pops are gonna worry..."_

_"Not when y' come back with a shipload o' treasure!"_

_"But they'll worry a lot..."_

_"Doesn't matter."_

_"And what if I'm gone for a really long time?"_

_"Naw!" the otter batted the question away with a flabby paw. "Just one round through our routes should only take a coupl'a months."_

_"But..."_

_The captain interrupted, leaning closer so that Brink could smell his beer-tinted breath. Brink leaned backwards slightly, not even masking his disgust half as well as he'd hoped. "Listen, mate. The sea life is full of unpredictable stuff. And when it throws a storm at ye, take the wheel. If ye crash on a rock, abandon ship. If ye are blown off course, regain your bearings. If vermin attack, ye gut 'em. If ye can't make a decision when an opportunity or disaster comes- and I say _if_, lad- then ye'd better make a decision or ye can kiss yer rudder g'bye. No hesitation. Sea beasts must always make their minds fast- no talking t'Mommy and Daddy an' askin' fer permission. Got that?"_

_The young otter's eyes furrowed as his eyes flicked to the side. "... I guess..."_

_"Then it's settled mate! Tomorrer at the break o' dawn. Agreed? Deal? C'mon, now don't change yer mind on me when I've already got m' hopes up!"_

_"Promise swash-bucklin' adventure and a fair share?"_

_"Plenty of it!"_

_"Deal!" With his smile back in place, Brink held out his paw to shake, but the captain did the oddest thing. He snorted deep, as if he were trying to breath through sand. And then he spat smack in the middle of his palm and pressed it against Brink's paw. The otter shuddered with restrained disgust as he felt the phlegmy substance _squelch_ in his paw._

_"BRINK!" He spun around._

_"Pops?" In an instant, his father was between the two of them, disregarding their latched paws._

_"What d'ye think yer doin' t'my son?" he demanded to the captain. Brink gasped, tugging at his father's arm. But the old otter was a lot tougher than he looked._

_"Easy, easy, there," the captain chuckled nervously, bringing his paws up in a plead for peace._

_"Stop filling his empty head with nonsense! If there's anything th'cub needs, it's common sense rather than those trashy sailor talk!"_

_"Trashy sailor talk?" Rung scoffed, eyeing his crew. "You're smothering the lad!"_

_"Smothering him?! At least I'm not letting him run wild in this world before he's beheaded by some rusty cutlass!"_

_"Pops!" Brink said desperately, managing to tug the rugged otter back a couple steps. "C'mon, father! Stop!"_

_"No, Brink," he hissed back. "You stop! I told you not to mingle with th' likes o' them and you deliberately disobeyed me!"_

_"I'm grown up now!" Brink's eyes rested on the sailors' faces, wondering just what they were thinking about him. Did they think that he was a coward to his father? That he would allow his own parents to run his life as if he were a stupid cub? They might as well think that he would run to his mommy and start blubbering if he cut his knee or something. _

_"I can make my own damn decisions!" Brink snarled, feeling anger crack in his voice.  
_

_"NO you can't! You're young and stupid, and we're keeping you safe!"_

_"Keeping me safe from the world!" he spat. "You want me t' just do chores fer the rest o' me so I can be a boring old fisherbeast like you!"_

**WHAP!**

_Brink didn't know what hit him. Literally. It felt like some shadow popped out of nowhere and buffeted him right in the ear. The whole world seemed to shake and reel as he staggered sideways, the railing being the only thing between him and the waters down below. _

_"Ugh!" he grunted, a paw dangling over the wood. _

_"Hey!" he heard the captain say. "Don't be so hard on the lad. He'll never be an adult unless he tastes his first-"_

_"And you keep yer filthy paws off my son, y'got that, Bilge-Wipe?!" Brink stayed slouched on against the railing, his ear throbbing as he tried to make sense of everything. There was plenty of yelling and curses and threats. Mostly coming from his own father. And then coming from the sailors. And the entire time, he was feeling sick._

_It was only when his father hauled him up by the shoulders, and ordered him down the rope ladder that he realized what happened. His father hit him! He'd never done anything like that before. He'd never hit him! He was soft-spoken and patient. He wasn't the type to resort to curses and violence! He opened his mouth to protest when his stomach gurgled and saliva filled his mouth._

_"UUUURRGH!" He couldn't stop the onslaught of foul bile. It was an acidic torrent that surged up his throat and spewed into the ocean. He gripped the edge of the planks, leaning over the edge of the port as he retched and retched and retched, a ringing sound stinging his ear. Even after he felt that he'd emptied all his food and organs out, he didn't have the heart to look up again. Those sailors were all probably staring at him, shaking their heads as they realized he wasn't as tough as they thought. He felt the shame burn up in his cheeks as he got back on his legs.  
_

_"C'mon, Brink." His father's voice didn't sound harsh or angry anymore- just tired. And then he felt something grab his shoulders, supporting and guiding him back home. He didn't know why he felt so sick. Maybe that punch sorta knocked him loose in a way? But it didn't take long before his mind cleared and he regained his balance. He was still a little affected, though, but he was back to his old self again.  
_

_"Why the hell'd you follow me?!" he asked groggily, shaking his father's paw off of him._

_"You'll thank me someday for this, Brink." His father raised his paw again, trying to put it back on his shoulder.  
_

_"Shaddup!" he snapped, slapping it away.  
_

_"Stop this now!" Pops warned. Brink couldn't take it anymore. He'd had the most boring life imaginable, his parents didn't have enough faith in him to live to high expectations, everybeast around him wasn't even the slightest bit ambitious, and not to mention the latest incident- the humiliation of being beaten down by his father and going weak-in-the-knees in front of everybeast. And it took only one hit!  
_

_"You'll never let me grow up!" he trembled, clenching his fists. "I hate you and I hate what yore tryin' t'make me into!"  
_

_"Brink, get back in the house! You're banned from leaving home for the rest o' the month. Y'hear me?!"_

_"I hate you! I hate each and every one of you and I hope you're happy when I leave!"_

_He had anticipated another swipe. And he barely dodged it as his father tried to land another one on the opposite cheek. The younger otter ducked, bringing up his knee straight into the stomach. There was a gasp and a groan, and Brink realized what he'd just done. But he didn't have time to apologize before a jarring pain exploded on his chin._

_"Umph!" It brought him down hard on his back._

_"Ferget what I said about a month. Yer not going anywhere outside t'see the daylight until I say so. Got that?"_

_Brink clenched his fists and snarled, feeling the sand crumble in each paw. "I still hate yer boring miserable guts."_

_"And you'll still hate it when you're probably stuck in some boring, miserable slave ship," the other otter said, crossing his arms over his chest, still standing over him. "Am I right?"_

_"I'll get out and I'll show you all some day. I will. I promise you that!"_

_

* * *

_

_The next week was Hell to Brink. The Starfish and her crew was gone the very next day after the incident. Apparently, he wasn't impressive enough for them to offer to help give him the slip or reinvite him or anything. And to add to that, his father was being agitated and gruff and stupid. He really did mean every single word of his punishment. It was suffocating, how he'd have to do chores all day in the stuffy old shack while everybeast else was soaking up the sun's rays. He could've been out there right now._

_And then to show he was serious, his father even bartered for a whip and placed it on his shelf._

_"See that?" the graying otter said, pointing to the coiled leather snake. "Don't think I won't beat ye t' keep ye alive, Brink."_

_It was making his blood boil. Everything was. His mother was cold and distant to him now, not showing the usual fussy sympathy whenever he got a bruise or a welt. If there were any time she could over-react, it should've been when she was tending to his face. His cheek and his jaw were sore and bruised while his lower lip was cut badly. She simply treated the damage and left. Apparently, Pops didn't want anybeast feeling any sympathy or pity for him- not like Brink wanted any, anyways. _

_And his father was the worst, always clenching his jaw when he came home. It seemed he liked to pretend he never had a son sometimes. And little Cora was concerned at first, though she got the gist of his punishment soon enough. She didn't understand the situation, though. Nobeast felt like mentioning it to her. Perhaps if she'd known, she wouldn't have been so irritating in the end._

_---  
_

_"Brink is in trouble, Brink is in trouble!" his little sister sang in a sing-song voice while everybeast else busied themselves with their supper. Brink had attempted to block out her teasing, pressing his ear against his palm, disguising the position by slouching and propping his elbow on the table. Finally, he couldn't take it anymore.  
_

_"Shaddup Cora," he hissed. He glared at her as she stuck her pink tongue out at him.  
_

_"Brink!" That was his mother's voice. It seemed extra screechy these last couple of days._

_He jerked up to his footpaws, callously tossing his spoon into his porridge with a _slop_! In an instant, Cora's face and green dress were splattered with the mushy mix. The little ottermaid gasped as she inspected the damage, tears coming to her eyes._

_Brink smirked. "The new design looks good on you."  
_

_"Mooommmaaaaaa!" she cried._

_"Brink!" his father boomed. "You apologize to your sister and you-"_

_"Yeah, yeah. Back to my prison." He waved the last word away with a casual flick of his wrist. He didn't even bother apologizing as he stomped off, slamming his door behind him. He scowled as he leaned against the rough door, crossing his arms as he listened to his family's conversation._

_"I swear! He's gettin' out of control these days!" His father's voice. From the sounds of his footpaws, he was heading to the shelf where he kept that whip. He'd threatened to beat him plenty of times; although Brink was sure he'd never be able to use it on his own flesh and blood, just seeing it did the job of intimidating him._

_"Poppaaaaaaa!" Cora sobbed. "NO! You're no' gonna whip Brink, are ye?"_

_"No Cora," Mom soothed. "Poppa can't hurt Brink. Only scold him. Your Poppa ain't mean." She sniffled at that, hiccuping from the brief stress._

_"Promise?" she asked, her voice quivering. "Promise Poppa? I wasn't hurt or anythin'. It's only my dress..."_

_"It's not that, Corie," Pops said gently, using her pet name for an extra effect. "Brink's just been very naughty lately and I need to get him to listen before he gets in serious trouble. Understand?"_

_"But what did Brink do?"_

_"... We'll tell you some other time."_

_She slammed her tiny fists on the shabby table, causing miniature earthquakes that wreaked havoc for the dishes. "NO! I wanna know _now_!"_

_"Not now, Cora," they shushed. And then she started crying again, this time demanding to know what heinous crime could make her parents act this way._

_"I'm going to talk to him," Pops grated. Brink could already hear the creaking of the floorboards as his father approached. Suddenly, there were multiple, faster poundings vibrating against the ground and the pawsteps stopped.  
_

_"Oh no you don't!" His mother scolded. "You're just going to make things worse between the two of you! Honestly, for as many scraps as you two get, it's never _ever_ been this way. You keep this up, and you'll just push him to do something he'll regret!" _

_"Don't be ridiculous!" he snorted._

_"Just look at the way things are now!" she insisted, her voice cracking on up-coming tears. "He's more likely to run away now than any other time!"_

_"Stop it. I just need t' straighten things out with Brink, is all. I need to talk to him about all of this adventure nonsense."_

_"No." Mom's voice was firm. "Just leave him to cool down for a while. I'll talk to him."_

_Silence, and then there were steps._

_He cringed as his mother practically rammed the door down. The otterwife was a good mother and a wonderful cook- fitting the description of the usual happy woodlander housewife perfectly. And to add to that, she rarely got riled up over anything and stayed politely calm through her days. However, _if _and only _if_ she was furious, everybeast should just head for the nearest port, row to another island and take cover there._

_"So," she huffed, slamming the door behind her. "What's all this then? You just decide you want to get up and leave home? Be a big and tough sailor and leave your parents to worry sick about you?"_

_"I'd be back," he grumbled._

_"Not likely, Brink! Do you know how many poor creatures died out in the sea? How they all perished under the whip or by a corsair's blade? And that's only the worst. You could fall overboard or crash into rocks or there could be a storm! Do you know how lucky you are that you have a nice and loving family and a place to call home?"_

_"Being stuck in this dump, I really do feel like a slave," he snorted._

_"You take that back, you!" she scolded, her voice reaching another octave. "Your father and I work hard to make sure you and your sister grow up healthy and safe and this is the gratitude we have? You don't even care!"_

_"What are the chances that I'd even get in trouble anyways?"_

_"Yer young and stupid, Brink," she screeched back, throwing a pillow smack at his face. He ripped it off of him, glaring daggers at her. Of course, while he might have inherited his looks and stubborness from his father, he only inherited half of his mother's dormant fury. _

_"Do you know that there are poor, suffering beasts out there that would jump at the chance to live the peaceful happy life you live now? Do you know how many of those poor things cry for their mothers and fathers and family as they're chained to the galleys? They're so young, and yet their lives are already over!"_

_"No. Do you?" Brink retorted. "And what about the brave beasts that go out, battle the slavers, and free them, huh?"  
_

_"Don't you understand Brink?" she fumed. "Don't you understand why we worry for you? Do you know how many beasts are on this island? Do you know that all these beasts are descendants of slaves- including you? Think Brink, think with that thing ye call a brain! All those hundreds of beasts were slaves, and they were only the lucky ones! What if they all died? What if you die an oarslave? You could be just like them!"_

_"Yeah, but they all got freed! They were liberated! We can't all just stand by and watch all these vermin run around and just pretend it doesn't exist! We have to go out there and see the world and take what is rightfully ours- our freedom, Mom! You and Pops just sit around and live your simple lives without thinking about the others!"_

_"Brink, you're just being so damned selfish!"_

_"You're selfish, living under a rock all your lives while the world is like this! And if you think that I'm the one that's the root of all these problems, you're wrong! It's YOU! If you weren't so controlling, maybe I wouldn't be daydreaming for adventure all the time! If you let me make my decisions, things wouldn't be so hard! You're making it hard, not me! You're all smothering me! I need my space!" Those last sentences almost exploded from his throat.  
_

_"Your _space_?! Do you even realize how much we've given you already? You can run around this entire island and do all sorts of odd jobs, but you would rather waste your time hanging around the likes of drunken sailors and talk of adventure and mystery and whatever nonsense! We worked hard to raise you up to be healthy and responsible and smart and this is the thanks we get?"_

_Brink sighed, rolling his eyes as he muttered words under his breath._

_"OOOOOOOH! I just can't stand you sometimes!" Mom yelled, pegging him in the head with another pillow, though she got absolutely no reaction. "I wonder why I even have children, you ungrateful little brat!" And then she slammed the door. _

_Brink waited a little while, arms folded over his chest as he thought about his life so far. He'd always lived here, helping with chores around the house while his father caught fish for dinner. And sometimes he'd help his father haul loads of stinking fish onto the boat, row it back, set the table, clean the table, have lessons with his mother about reading and useless things, and then go to bed for everything to start all over. It was the same day in and day out. It could be perfectly fine for everybeast here, but not him. He can't just stay in one place forever and fear change for the rest of his life. There was far more to the world than some stupid island._

_His mother always said that he should challenge himself to see his true potential, though she only meant it in the context of education. But it was true. How would he know what he was truly made of if he never tested himself? He knew he was different from all the other island bumpkins loafing around here and wasting their lives away. He could feel it. It was as if the wind was calling him- some unshakable restlessness that dwelled deep within his chest._

_His great-great-great-great grandparents used to be slaves and they survived. Their blood was flowing through his veins. He was the new generation, and if he couldn't make it out there, then nothing in this world made sense.  
_

_There was more bickering from his parents and more crying from Cora in the background. He needed to get out of here. This wasn't his home anymore._

_If there was any time to go, it was now. He had everything ready- a boat he'd secretly spent nights working on, provisions, a spare change of clothes, a compass, and a map. He'd make it out there._

_He snatched a napkin from the corner of the shelf, stabbing his ruffled quill-pen into his almost-depleted inkwell. It was a challenge to block all other voices while his own mind told his paws what to write down._

"Dear Mom and Pops and Cora..." he paused, plucking the nerve to scribble out his father and mother from the letter and revising those few words. Now it read:

"Dearest Cora and **NOT** very dearest Pops and Mom,  
By the time you've found this letter, I'd be long gone. Don't worry about me. I'll be fine. My nineteenth season is not too far off, so I'd have been a full-grown adult soon anyways. I'll be fine. Take care of yourselves and I'll come back to you one day as a son and brother you can be proud of."

_He paused again, not liking the last sentence. It made him sound like he was currently an embarrassment or something. He scratched out "son and brother you can be proud of" and waited for his mind to tell him what to say next. Nothing. He didn't even have an inkling about what he could be when he returned. Finally, he just wrote down _"I'll be back. Promise."_ And signed his name._

_His blotchy writing was nothing to be proud of, but his family could read it._

_Slapping the parchment on his bed, he opened his closet and tugged his haversack out. Frowning, he listened to his family one last time. Cora had stopped howling, so she'd probably run off to her room and cried herself to sleep. And his parents were still going at it. _

_It took a while to squeeze his frame through the window, but he managed. He looked back at his room, noting the rumpled blanket and pillows and the splintery walls. He'd actually miss this place sometime. After saying a mental farewell, he turned around, never looking back as he made his way to his hidden boat. He hesitated, looking back at the humble little house he'd once lived in.  
_

Good-bye Mom. Pops. Cora. I'll be back.

_And then he continued on his way._

_He thought he chose his path and altered the course the world had set for him. He thought he would be something different than what his parents had in store for him. But what he didn't know was that Fate was unpredictable and usually cruel. He didn't expect that his destiny would be meeting him halfway in a couple of days. And even if he did foresee anything extraordinary happening, he would never have thought that it would've come in the form of a slave ship._

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**So, what'cha think? I know this is a little late to tell you, but I honestly don't know why I didn't put this chapter up before. I mean, maybe it's because we all knew that he ran away from home, but I never really felt like talking about what transpired over there. Also, I felt like making Brink open up to Jolin somehow, so I did. :) Will they get together after all this war is over (or if it even comes at the rate I'm writing things... ), you'll just have to find out. *winkwink***

**Also, I know that Brink was like one of those spoiled, ungrateful brats, but haven't we all had the experience of being one? Well, if you haven't, you're either a liar or you WILL experience it in a couple years. Also, yeah, I realize that Brink's mom wasn't the always the kind, calm nurturing type. I figured that if anything, his parents should set him on edge to motivate him to leave and be rebellious and whatever he feels like. I mean, I have to break out of that super-nice mom cook stereotype and make a realistic mom. I mean, show of hands, who has a protective mom with a fiery personality? *raises hand*  
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**So thank you for reading this. I really appreciate your time and I hope you enjoyed it. Please support the author and review, please. :)**

**P.S. Next chapter has a pretty big cliff-hanger and the chapter after that sort of explodes... :)  
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	48. All Good Things

**Sorry for not updating sooner. I was caught up with stuff and this turned out to be a very long chapter to make up for it anyways. As I said, things start speeding up here. **

**Special thanks to those who reviewed the last time: Adder of the Pit, Firehawk43, Fwirl of Redwall, Jarrtail, Foeseeker, Foxstar24, Sanfrasm, Siran 774, and Awsomewriter123. Thank you all. :)**

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**All Good Things**

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It went by so fast, the feast a whirl of colors and music. There were so many chatting beasts and all of them eventually learned to pay Keetch no mind. However, he did from time to time get some questions about how he met Brink. He found it a difficult question to answer, only because he wanted to avoid telling a story. Instead, he simply stated "on a slave ship" and inched away. And to his pleasant surprise, the only things he'd gotten from Skipper Raller were cold glares and a slight collision with the shoulders; but that was a vast improvement. He thanked Fate that Brink wasn't around for that last clash, though.

_And just where is that otter...?_

The fox was more than puzzled when both Brink and Jolin disappeared and never came back. At first, he tried to dislodge himself from Nana's company, but the old vole just wouldn't let him go. She was constantly introducing him to confused bystanders who weren't at all interested to begin with. And when she wasn't doing that, she was forcing him to eat food, telling him that he was as "skinny as a stick." It was moments like these when he wondered why Brink was never around when he needed him.

But then again, he had to acknowledge the fact that he probably had other friends and matters to attend to.

_And if Brink is already interested in finding a mate at this age... _his thoughts returned to the ottermaid and her coincidental timing, disappearing right when Brink ran off. He mentally slapped himself for that. It wasn't any of his business.

And then there was the fact that he had other things to worry about.

First of all, there was Clove. As much as she solidified some sort of respect or trust between him and the woodlanders, she was dangerous. One little slip-up and he could be thrown in their prison. Of course, he knew that she would never knowingly do anything against him, but she was so _talkative_. Now he was sorely regretting his decision to lose her among the other children. But was she enjoying herself with them? It never occurred to him at first, what he was going to do with her. In the very beginning, he figured he could frighten her into silence, but that proved impossible due to her sociable nature and his personal weakness.

Just what was he going to do with her? Was he going to leave her here to grow up? It was definitely a better alternative to life in a cave. Though, the thought of the little rabbit growing up without him at every single turn was more than just a bit bitter. She would learn to have friends and to do normal child-like things and drift apart from him. She wouldn't need him anymore. She would no longer be dependent on him for survival, food, shelter, or any of _his_ love. There was no way he could provide her with anything she truly deserved in life. The last and final thing he could do for her now would probably be to give her to the abbey.

But wouldn't he have to stay a little while to at least make an attempt to warn the Redwallers? Shouldn't he first make sure that she gets out of harm's way? But even if he could, there was no place safer than here- the target of war. He frowned, the ironic realization slowly sinking in. Now he was in danger along with them.

He didn't need any skills as a seer to notice that everybeast was carefree and ignorant of everything around them. They were all going to die because they didn't believe him.

But just how was he going to tell Redwall all about this looming threat? Martin told him that he had to warn them, but would they take his word seriously? He failed miserably back with the otters, so how would the abbeybeasts be any different? Even Brink, the one who had the most faith in him, thought he was absolutely insane. If he started yelling about some impending doom coming to crash down around their heads, there would be no positive reaction. It was either going to be panic or laughter- the latter being completely and utterly humiliating.

But who was he going to tell? He looked about him, recognizing nobeast. He was a stranger here- a vermin stranger. Would they follow Skipper's lead, accusing him of being a spy or false informant? As much as Brink had supported him, he was still just one beast. Maybe if he told the abbess? But he remembered the hare and her badger companion. He departed on neutral terms, but he knew they didn't quite trust him. And what about Tarka? What would he say? Oh, why did Martin have to pick him to be the bearer of bad news? He buried his head under his paws as he racked his brain for answers.

"Eat more peach cobbler, dearie."

_Splat!_

Some of the sugary filling splattered on his face as the dessert was plopped on his plate. He faked a tight smile and prodded it with a fork. These things were so sickeningly sweet and he felt like he was going to burst...

"Peach cobbler, eh? Blackberry's more of my taste." In a trice, Brink was sitting right next to him, helping himself to something with powdered sugar heaped onto it.

"And don't forget your prunes." Before the sea otter had a chance to snatch his plate to safety, the senile, nutrition-aware bankvole had dropped a spoonful of soft, wrinkled black things on his plate.

"It's good for digestion," she said as she heaped a bunch of the fruit on her own plate.

"Great. Thanks. I'll keep that in mind." The enthusiasm in Brink's voice was apparently non-existent as he picked them up by the stems and tossed them onto the floor. Rubbing the juice off his paws, he turned back to his friend. "So what have ye been up to?"

"I'm being force-fed all these things," he admitted. "It's delicious and horrible all at the same time."

"So no talk of doom and death?"

"No."

"See? Told ye it was all in yer head!" Brink said as he scarfed down a bite of cobbler. Keetch sighed. He didn't know why being a seer was such an enviable position for vermin. Who would want to carry the burden of knowing all these horrible things when you could just sit back and let the responsibility rest on somebeast else's shoulders? Why should everyone fear you just because you have a bit more wisdom or intuition? Just because you bring bad news doesn't mean that you're the reason why the future looks so bleak. You don't bring the storm, you just warn beasts about them.

"Why so glum?"

"Nobody believes me about what I say," he muttered. "Not even you."

"Well, we have no proof, Keetch," said Brink between chews. "I mean, ye mean well an' everythin', but we need proof here. If it makes ye feel better, even if the abbess started spewing the same nonsense you have, I wouldn't believe her."

"That's very reassuring," he snorted in reply.

"Brink Brink Brink Brink Brink!" Rosco rudely shoved himself between the two, panting and looking worried.

"Get outta my face," Brink scowled, forcing the other otter to move over to the other side.

"Brink! I gotta talk t'ye! It's an emergency!"

"What?"

"I need ye to rehearse the proposal with me!" he gasped between breaths, his arms waving erratically in the air. "I tried talkin' t'myself and repeating the words, but every time I get so nervous, I sound like a mole! I sound like I'm speakin' flippin' molespeech!"

"Erm..." Brink interrupted, coughing slightly into a fist as he pointed behind Rosco's shoulder. The otter's eyes went wide as he whirled around, nearly backpawing a molewife.

"Oh... I'm sorry," he chuckled nervously. "I didn't see you there... heheh... er... nothing's wrong with molespeech. I mean, I _love_ you moles!" Still offended, the molewife _hmph_ed, took her plate, and left.

"D'oh!" Rosco slapped his forehead. "See how inept I am? I can't say anything right! Look at me! I have to make this announcement for Brook in less than ten minutes and I'm sweaty and I'm nervous and it'll be so _embarrassing_! Please Brink! I need some advice or _somethin_'!"

"First of all, I'm _not_ going to rehearse that thing with you again. Just _don't _be youself. Can you remember that? No laughin', no gigglin', no jokes. Just say what you mean about how much you love her and you should be fine."

Rosco was beaming. "Really?"

"Yeah," Brink nodded, sipping some cordial. "Don't worry about it. I see the way you two are with each other and I'd say it's a good match. Look at it this way, Rosco... she's been with you and for seasons, and to my surprise, she's never once rejected you so far. So why would she reject you today?"

"You sure?" the otter pressed. "I mean, I'm just scared. I've never done anythin' like this before. What if she says no?"

"She won't say no," Brink said impatiently. "It's so obvious she loves you. Just go for it. If she will say no, it's because she wants to wait so that her wedding is next spring so that the flowers make everything all pretty or something girly like that."

"Whew..." Rosco breathed, calming down. "Thanks Brink. I really needed t'hear that... But what if Brook-"

"What's Stupid-Head talkin' about?" Everybeast looked down to Clove, who was holding a large plate of food and a small, tightly-lidded jar in her paws. Rosco smiled and bent down.

"Me? I'm goin't' propose to Brook."

"C'mon, Rosco," Brink groaned. "You _actually _responded to 'Stupid-Head?!'"

"Huh?" the otter blinked. Brink rolled their eyes as Keetch sighed and looked down.

Clove frowned as she placed everything on the table. "But what's proposing?"

"It's when you ask somebeast very special to marry you," Rosco answered with a grin.

"But what's 'marry?'" The love-struck otter looked confused for a moment, probably puzzled as to why she was asking such a question. But he must've remembered her unfortunate upbringing and obliged, though he probably would've answered anyways.

"Marriage is when you go to somebeast you love very very much- the one you love more than anythin'- and ask him to be with you for ever and ever and always."

_Just _why_ did he say it like that?_ Keetch groaned inwardly. He looked at Clove, who was staring back at him with that giant grin and those sparkling brown eyes of hers.

"No." Her face caved in as the fox continued. "It's not that simple. There are rules to these things. So, no."

"Rules?"she repeated, still confused. "So Keetch doesn't want to be with Clove forever and ever? Keetch doesn't want Clove?" Hot tears were springing from her eyes now and Keetch found himself almost begging her to be quiet before she made a full-blown scene.

"Please Clove, please just be quiet! Be quiet, _please_." He grabbed her by the shoulders as she rubbed her sleeves against her eyes. "You're going to embarrass me here."

"But why?" she sniffled. "Clove made jam for Keetch! Doesn't Keetch love Clove anymore? Who is Keetch going to marry?" She looked at Brink accusingly, causing the otter to spray an entire mouthful of cordial at a poor passerby.

"_WHAT?! _It's not like that, you Crazy!" he sputtered, elbowing Rosco square in the stomach, though the otter only laughed harder. "It's complicated and Keetch is not marrying anybeast! You need to be the _same_ age, the _same_ species, and _different_ genders. There. Done. No exceptions." As if to finalize the statement, he gulped deep from his mug.

"Those rules don't make sense," Clove challenged, just recovering from her previous rejection.

"Trust me," Rosco chuckled. "You'll understand someday." She only pouted and wiped her tears, choosing to ignore otter as she rudely wedged herself between Brink and Keetch. The fox expected Brink to say something, but the otter only made a disgruntled noise before he scooched away. Clove on the other paw, chose to ignore him completely.

"Look Keetch," she said proudly. "Clove made jam! Blueberry jam... though it's not very blue. And Clove did so many things today! Clove ate berries, there was a funny prickle-spike, Clove touched a little baby, some funny beast with big claws talked to Clove..." she paused, thinking about something. "Keetch, why does that funny creature get so angry?"

"The what?"

"I think she's talkin' 'bout a mole," Rosco whispered.

"But what did you do to make him angry?" Keetch questioned, not sure if he wanted to know the answer.

"Clove doesn't know," she shrugged. "Clove only asked why it talked so stupid."

_Thump! _That was the sound of the fox slamming his head on the table in exasperation, though Clove was still prattling on about her day while Brink looked like he was actually going to choke on his own laughter.

"And then everybeast started calling Clove a door," she frowned, looking quite peeved.

"A door?" the fox repeated curiously. The little rabbit nodded.

"A door. Redwallers always say," she paused, holding her clasped paws against the side of her face while she imitated the maiden-like falsetto voices. "Oooooh, she's so 'a door.'" Keetch was at a loss to this, as was Brink.

"Adorable," Rosco interpreted. "That just means that they like you."

"A-dor-a-ble?" Clove said, trying the word. And then her face instantly cracked into a grin. "Clove's adorable? Really?"

"Really?! Clove, they love ya!" he finished with a wink.

"Rosco's adorable!" she exclaimed. "And Keetch is adorabler. And Brink is not adorable!"

"Psh. Thanks," the sea otter snorted. But once again, the little Dibbun paid him no mind as she continued, this time pulling her plate of food so that it sat right in front of her caretaker.

"Look Keetch!" Although the pile was huge, there was something very strange with all those biscuits and scones and cakes- they all had bites taken out of them. She picked a cookie up, placing it right by his paw. "Clove took bites out of them to make sure they were good. All of these taste really really good!"

"Thanks Clove," he muttered as he picked it up. "But I'm not hungry right now."

An ear flopped down from from the top of her head. "Keetch doesn't want it?"

The fox simply shook his head no, making her heave a sad sigh.

"Alright..." she said, her head hanging low. "Clove will put them back where she got them."

"Wait," Brink interrupted, his eyes going large as he dropped a biscuit back to his plate. "What do you do to the food you _didn't_ like?"

At this point, Rosco found it the best time to detach himself from the group. "Well, gotta go." He pushed himself off the bench and waved at them. "If ye don't mind, I've got t'make the grand announcement. Thank ye fer giving me a good laugh before this thing and- gyak! Ew! Who put all these prunes on the floor! Awwww... I trampled right on them." From the corner of his vision, Keetch could see Brink smirk as he sipped his mug.

"Good luck," he said. "Just remember what I tol' ye, got that?"

"Got it!" Rosco yelled back, kicking off the abandoned remains of Brink's meal as he disappeared into the crowd.

"Keetch?" Clove asked.

"What?"

"Is Clove going to stay here forever? And is Keetch going to stay here too?" Keetch sighed and looked at Brink, and then he looked at all the other beasts sitting around him, all peaceful and friendly. Even Nana Bankvole seemed to have tired of her overbearing nature and had finally abandoned him.

"Do you like it here, Clove?"

"Clove liked it better when Clove was all alone with Keetch," she admitted.

"But do you like it here?"

"Clove likes it," she said absent-mindedly as she began playing with the jar, rotating it. The seer was stuck between two rocks now. He could be at peace now, but there was something he had to do. He had come all this way to complete this mission of warning the Redwallers, hadn't he? And didn't he follow Martin's orders to go into the cave and retrieve something? Of course, he hoped that those fangs were what the warrior mouse had in mind... but he had done everything to the best of his abilities. Nobeast ever even tried half as hard as he did. Why should he be tried over and over? Why couldn't he enjoy himself for all his efforts?

He didn't deserve all this distrust from anybeast. Maybe it would be better if he just ignored the problem just for a little while. He did warn them, after all. Whether they chose to listen or not, that wasn't entirely in his power. And he did imagine this sweet satisfaction of looking Skipper in the eye and saying "I warned you." His job had already been done. He'd always wanted to stop somewhere safe for a while and rest easy. Couldn't he allow himself just one tiny little break? Couldn't he enjoy himself?

"Excuse me! Excuse me, could I have everybeast's attention please?" They all recognized that voice clamoring above the rumblings of the crowd. The noise died down, slowly dwindling to some stray whispers as everybeast stared at the otter standing on the table.

"Thank you," Rosco said, smiling nervously. "Um... first of all, I'd like to thank Abbess Linette, Badgerlady Meles... Friar Siffle, and Sister Mirril for all their hard work at preparing this perfect feast on such a beautiful day. Second of all, I'd like to thank my uncle, Skipper Raller, for his support in this crucial point in my life- and for making sure I stayed sober." There was a bit of some laughter here- mostly from the otters. "I would also like to thank my sister, Jolin, for giving me suggestions and ideas. And I'd also like to thank Brink for his undying enthusiasm in letting me practice this." Keetch heard Brink give an amused snort at that, though everybeast was just plain curious as to what the otter was going at.

"And I'd also like to thank Brook, the one that made all of this possible," Rosco said, looking straight at her with that charmful smile of his. "Brook, could you please come up with me?" Slowly, she detached herself from the crowd, accepting Rosco's paw as he helped her on top of the table. By then, everybeast had caught on, and there was a resounding clapping going on in the air as the more rambunctious beasts whooped. These noises died down, however, as Rosco spoke to her. He could care less if there was a crowd paying attention to him or not. All that mattered now was that she understood him and his feelings for her.

"Brook..." he seemed stunned at first, though he pushed himself to continue. "I can't really remember the words that crossed my mind when we first met. After all, we've known each other since we were little tykes stuck in our cribs. However, I do remember the words that crossed my mind on my eighteenth birthday. That day, we were skipping stones at the Abbey Lake, talking about whatever came across our minds. You were so beautiful and funny and smart..." A dreamy pause. "And I remember thinking these very words in my head: _'This is her. This is the one I want to marry.'_

"Now, I know- I know that I'm not the most responsible beast in the world, that it's my nature to frolic in the stream instead of do my chores, and play with Dibbuns instead of talk with adults, but I _promise you_, I will do my best for you as both a husband and a father in the future. So..." he pulled something from his pocket. It was small and shiny, glittering between his thumb and forefinger. He held it up, grinning his milky-white trademark smile, the brass ring shining against the torchlight like a beacon.

"Brook," he continued, dropping down on one knee as tears started welling up in both of their eyes. "Would you do me the honors of being my wife? ...Would you marry me?"

She covered her mouth, surprise still written all over her face. There was silence as everybeast stared on, some of them horrified at the pessimistic idea of rejection. Eventually, some whisperings bubbled up within the crowd as the seconds passed for too long. Rosco's smile faltered just a little. Keetch felt some sympathy for him. He was really quite friendly, and he wished him the best. He couldn't imagine the humiliation he would face if she actually ripped his heart up and threw the pieces right back at him. He looked nervously at Brink, who was obviously failing at not seeming worried.

"Keetch," Clove piped up. "What's going on?"

"Sh."

Finally, Rosco spoke up, unable to bear the silence any more. His beloved was just standing there, probably still in shock of everything that was happening. And were those tears of joy or tears of regret flowing down her cheeks?

"C'mon Brook," he chuckled nervously, all humor absent from his voice. "I'm on my knees here. Don't make me beg. I- ow!" He rubbed his arm where she'd just punched him.

"Rosco, you idiot," she scolded. "Do you have _any_ idea how long I've been waiting for you to do this?" Then her voice softened to something more loving. "Leave it t'you to procrastinate even this."

And then she grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and yanked him close, pressing her lips against his. Keetch could've sworn he saw Rosco's eyes bulge, but he relaxed and stood up to his full height, kissing her right back as he embraced her. Some politely clapped, others shouted encouragement and jokes, and others went absolutely wild. Brink wasn't one of those, but he did contribute to a sharp whistle, some bangings on the table, and a "Get a room!"

Watching them, Keetch just felt a little embarrassed. Didn't those two get tired of standing up there? And Rosco didn't really get a definite verbal answer; he really didn't need it, anyways. It was all right there and Keetch wished the best for them both. Clove, on the other paw, was transfixed by the scene before her.

The fox looked about him, suddenly noticing how some of the wiser parents had covered their childrens' eyes no matter how much the little ones protested. And now he knew why.

"Keetch," she gasped, pointing at them. "Why are they eating each other's faces?"

* * *

This night was a night to remember for all the seasons to come. Rosco was sure of it as they danced at the center of the crowd. All eyes seemed to be on them, but the couple was watching nothing but each other. It was something that Jolin would call "the perfect romance."

"So did I surprise you or what?" he chuckled.

"Oh you surprised me all right," she smiled. "I was surprised that it took you so long. You got me all nervous a while back."

"Really? You were flashing that gorgeous smile so much that I couldn't tell."

She gave a mock scoff. "Now you're just sucking up, you." He responded with a look of exaggerated hurt.

"But what's wrong with saying such nice things about you, Brook? I thought you girls live off of compliments- OW!" He clutched at his head where she'd just hit him.

"Wow," she smirked. "Your head really _does_ sound hollow."

_Brink was right,_ thought the lucky groom-to-be. _I really am whipped._

He looked back up at her, noticing that she'd been looking at him expectantly. _Did she say something?_

"Huh?"

"I said, 'so how do ye picture our wedding?'"

"Our wedding?" he grinned. "I was thinking maybe at the very end of the season when the leaves turn color."

"Sounds nice. Lots of food?"

"You know it!"

"And you're planning this?" she asked, raising a brow.

"No... I planned on someone else planning our wedding. Jolin."

"Well, that's a good choice. Very good, Rosco. Looks like you haven't made a botch of everything after all," she said jokingly.

He chose to ignore that jibe. "So how many cubs are ye thinking about?"

"It's a little too early to be thinkin' about that, isn't it?" she chuckled nervously as he spun her around.

"I don't think so."

"Well," she pecked him on the lips. "We'll just see, alright?"

"Boys or girls?"

She heaved an exasperated sigh, wrapping her arms around his neck. "Rosco, I'd love all my children."

"I know that," he said pointedly. "But boys are more funner!"

"You mean 'more fun,'" she sniffed. "And besides, that's completely untrue. Boys get dirtier more often and girls are smarter." She emphasized her point by jabbing him on the side of the head with a claw.

"See?" he responded. "My point exactly."

If Brook really was growing impatient with him, she was doing a poor job of showing it, the corners of her mouth always twitching upwards. "Oh shush, you-"

"YOU FOOLS!"

Heads turned towards the main entrance. The noise of the crowd lowered a little, though there were some stray conversations here and there.

"YOU IGNORANT FOOLS!"

Now everything was quiet as a furious hare limped his way through the crowd, leaning on a gnarled branch as he did so. Mud and foliage had plastered itself all over his fur and he wore the sourest scowl they had ever seen on a hare.

"Sagewood?" gasped Abbess Linette. Nobeast could believe it. This was the hare that was always neat, tidy, proper, and by all means, practical. Now it looked like he'd weathered some mud-storm. What was he doing way out here? What had happened to drive him to such a disheveled state?

"Sagewood, sit down," the elderly hare advised gently, motioning some of the woodlanders for a chair.

"NO, DAMMIT!" In one smooth motion, he'd upturned an entire table of dishes. There was a collective gasp as everybeast shuffled out of the way.

"DON'T YOU UNDERSTAND?!" the hare raved. "THIS IS WAR! YOU ARE GOING TO BE UNDER ATTACK! AND HERE I'VE LOST TWO HARES, NEARLY GOT M'SELF KILLED, SPRAINED MY ANKLE, DRAGGED MY MISERABLE SELF OVER HERE, AND THIS ENTIRE TIME YOU LAZY HALFWITS HAVE BEEN _STUFFING YOURSELVES STUPID!_"

"War?" That one word seemed to set everybeast off into some buzzing panic.

"War? War against what?"

"Quick! Barricade the doors and ring the bells!"

"Ring the bells?! And tell those vermin where we are?"

"How many? How soon?"

"We're gonna die! We're gonna die!"

"Where are they coming from?"

"What do they want?"

"We can fight 'em!"

"We have to get out of here!"

"My father's out there!"

"QUIEEEEET!"

Silence some more, though this time the fear was coming off in waves. Everybeast knew what the other was thinking: Run out the door and as far away as you can. Either that, or it was something along the lines of "Die for your home and family." Die or leave everything behind.

"So what is all of this?" Meles barked. "Instead of insulting us, get straight to the point. How many, where from, and when?"

"They'll be here in here from the North less than a couple hours," he yelled back to the badger. "So quit stuffing your faces and set up a barricade and hide the women and Dibbuns. No time to lose!" And then he fixed everybeast with a piercing look. "And for those of you who have no flippin' backbone, at least get back to your homes to warn your families before you run for the hills." He winced in pain, paw pressed against his side where a moist patch of red was.

"But our homes are out there!" an otter shouted above them. "We can't let those damn vermin into our homes!"

"They can get in and they will," the messenger spat, collapsing on a chair. Either he'd calmed down or he'd grown too dazed to keep his volume up. "If your families are further down South, get them and get yourselves back in here... It's safer here. You have no idea... we need to protect the abbey. We need to defend ourselves. We need to fight," he wheezed. "It's our only chance."

"But what if our families are up North?" sounded a desperate voice. The hare shook his head lamely, gritting his teeth as there were horrified gasps and shrieks of grief. Some of them even rushed out the door anyways, willing to risk everything for their bed-ridden father or sleeping Dibbuns.

"But how many are there?"

The hare winced as Sister Mirril inspected his leg. "A lot. The only good news I can offer you is that Salamandastron is facing off those blaggards as well. Their forces will have to split up."

"Redwall has faced worse!"

"And it won't face any more if you blinkin' complainers don't do something!" he snapped. Skipper Raller leapt on top of a table.

"He's right! Everybeast, we need yer cooperation in order to make it past tonight. This is serious and beasts are going to die! S'listen up! Redwallers, git all the Dibbuns and women into the abbey and board the walls up. Me'n the otters 'n' the shrews are goin' to enforce the doors. All other woodlanders, pack the food up and store them someplace. We can't waste anything with a damn siege over our heads."

"But what about our homes?! What about our belongings?"

"Our homes are out there too," Raller yelled. "They're out there but there's nothing we can do. Whining and complaining about things ain't going to solve anythin' so everybeast just shaddup and do somethin' useful!"

"NOW!" the badgerlady finished.

Like pigeons after a good scare, the woodlanders scattered off in all sorts of directions, shouting and shoving. The tables were immediately toppled and slammed against the main gates while the smaller entrances were left open for the oncoming flood of refugees. Many beasts started milling in while others were barreling out, eager to retrieve somebeast or some possessions. Bells tolled in melancholy alarm, calling attention from everybeast, both woodlander and vermin alike.

* * *

The entire place was chaos as everybeast zipped this way and that in some aimless direction. There were yelling and screaming and everyone was doing something while Keetch found himself lost in the center of the mess. He almost couldn't believe it himself. This entire time, he'd half-hoped that he was simply going mad. But now, now the fact that he was perfectly sane frightened him more than anything. This thing- this terror that had been latched on to his dreams and fears- was real.

"Keetch!" The vermin gasped as he felt somebeast grab his shoulders. "Keetch! You were right! You were right! How the hell were you right?!"

"I told you!" he managed to gasp out before he pried Brink's paws off of him.

"How did you know?" his friend demanded. Unlike the other beasts, he seemed more furious than scared.

"Martin told me!" Keetch insisted once more. He was tiring this repetitious phrase, but the fact that the sea otter was quiet was a point of concern. "What? You don't think I...?" The seer trailed off. "I'm telling you, Brink. I am _not_ one of them." Brink swallowed nervously, clenching his fists as some rushing woodlanders bustled past him. They didn't think that he was a part if it too, did they?

_It's a good thing I didn't tell them then,_ he thought darkly. _If I did, no doubt they'd cast me out._

"I can't believe this," Keetch said in a soft, coarse voice. "I cannot believe that I traveled all this way here for you woodlanders." And now his volume was climbing higher and higher as he continued. It didn't matter if anybeast was hearing what he was saying. They would turn on him sooner or later anyways. Now it was just him and Brink and all the bitterness and hatred he's felt for the entire mess. Whatever possessed that hare to topple tables and scream insults at everybeast, Keetch felt that same force manifest itself in him now- only this time, he felt like ripping somebeast's arm off. "It's one thing for you to doubt me but it's completely different when you _turn around_ and start calling _me_ a _traitor_ when something happens!"

"Keetch, I didn't call you a traitor!" he snapped defensively.

"You don't need to say it. It's written all over your face. Good, now you can go mend the gaps between you and that Skipper and all your otter friends."

"That's not true."

"Forget it," the fox scowled. "I've got things to do."

"I'm still on your side," Brink said flatly before he turned on his heels and left to help enforce the gates. That grim expression still on Keetch's face, he walked through the crowds, ready to get everything over with.

---

They were in the dimly-lit Gatehouse, high above so that they could see the trees in the darkened distance and the clods of beasts shoving their ways through the entrances. However, as high as they were, he could still hear their clamoring and desperate shouts. They were all panicked, all terrified, all doomed.

"I've been meaning to speak to you." Both Skipper and Meles looked up to him while Abbess Linette was still immersed in the map.

"How convenient," the otter growled. "I'd just sent some o' m'otters to hunt ye down and drag yer carcass over here."

"Which is why I decided to spare them the trouble." The seer had no idea where this new-found courage was coming from. His voice didn't shake or waver. He crossed his arms over his chest as he continued. "You should be the one at fault here. I warned you, and you chose not to listen. So now what? Kill the messenger?"

The chieftain stood up from his seat, slamming his palms against the table so that it shuddered. "Listen you! We know you're behind this. We all do!"

"I wasn't in any part of this," he said solemnly. "If I did, then I'd be out there and not in here with all of you."

"Skipper," the badgerlady intervened, placing a paw on Skipper's shoulder. "This accusation isn't going to solve anything." Still digging his claws into the tabletop, the otter relented, though he did so with a dangerous glare at Keetch.

"What we need, fox," Abbess Linette spoke up, "Is information. All that we know now is that this horde is coming here from the North. For what reasons, I don't kn-"

"C'mon!" Skipper hissed. "We all know they're not here to join the party!"

"Fine then," the hare snapped back. "But perhaps we can negotiate for now. We can-"

"You know that all they want in life are slaves, forts, and treasure," Raller boomed. "And since we lack the latter, they'll compensate by slaughtering us all- starting with the Dibbuns!"

"Be quiet!" Meles commanded. Skipper once again stopped, though he was pretty close to another outburst. The abbess looked back at Keetch, who'd lost some of his nerve at the sight of the clashing leaders.

"What we want to know," the hare said slowly, "is everything you know about them. Whatever you've seen, heard, or anything. We need to know our enemy." Keetch shook his head.

"I honestly don't know," he admitted uselessly. "That's all Martin's revealed to me." _Martin... why didn't you talk with me?_

"Liar!"

"You just can't accept that I was right and you were wrong!" Keetch barked. Again with the unexpected courage. "You are just making excuses so everything's not your fault! You can't take it! You can't take it that I'm proof that vermin are actually capable of souls!"

"Why the hell would I listen to a vermin?" the otter snarled, venom dripping from his voice. "It's only natural that anybeast would sooner listen to some babblin', crazy woodlander before the likes of ye!"

"SKIPPER!" the badgerlady forced the otter back into his seat with massive paws. "That's enough!"

"No, this isn't enough!" he raged as he struggled against her hold. "He's one o' em. There's nothin' for him here, so why should he help us?! Vermin never do anythin' out o' charity." Keetch backed off nervously, though he mirrored the same exact same disgust that was on Skipper's face. Suddenly, the otter's gaze seeming to slip past Keetch and hover over his shoulder. Slowly Keetch turned around.

"Perhaps I can be of some assistance?"

Everybeast was now facing the entrance to the room, their eyes greeted by a complete stranger. It wasn't like he was a newcomer to Redwall. No. It was more like he was from a completely different place that they'd never even seen or heard before.

Dressed in a sporting knee-length red coat, shining black boots that went up to his shins, and leather gloves, the mouse had an air of repose as he stood there. And what drew everybeasts' attention was the decorated weapon resting against his hip. They could only see that it was a slim sword of some sort, complete with a bejeweled golden hilt.

"Who are you and how did you get here?" Skipper was as blunt as ever.

"Ah," the stranger said. "How rude of me. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Baron- Baron Pierce. And how did I get here? Why, I simply walked through the door, of course." He chuckled softly, as if it were a simple little joke. "Oh, but that's beside the point. My reason of being here is that I have some information that you might deem invaluable."

"Really?" The abbess motioned him closer. "Please, please sit down."

"I thank you for your consideration," he said with charm as he took a seat beside her, slightly smirking as he glanced at Keetch, who was still standing.

"So what news do you have?" the badgerlady inquired.

"Information? Yes, well..." he paused, holding his paw out, the palm face-up. "That depends on the slight payment at hand."

"Of course," the abbess replied with a nod. "You may stay in Redwall and take refuge here for as long as you like."

He shook his head, his brows lowered in a look of uncertainty. "Ah... no. I believe you misunderstand. I am proposing that I receive compensation in my efforts to inform you of the army advancing your way." All four of them blinked at Baron as if his refined words were replaced by garbled mole-speech.

"What?" Skipper voiced.

"I only ask for some few valuables at the least," the mouse stated. "Nothing that is necessary to you at the moment. No weapons, no food, no clothing, no water. Some silver or gold perhaps? Oh, anything will do really. Seeing the sorry state you lot are in, I truly doubt you can spare much."

"Yer joking," the otter said. And then he began growling, though the mouse seemed rather unfazed. Rather, his paw hovered over the hilt of his sword. "You have got t'be joking! Beasts are goin' t'die out here and all ye can think about is yourself and some payment? What the hell are you thinking? What are you, the bastard son of a rat?"

Baron's eyes went wide in shock before he regained his composure, clearing his throat. "Keep a civil tongue, please. You must think me to be unreasonable, I understand. However, I do believe that this oncoming siege is none of my concern. And, since I had cared enough to come and give you what you need, do you not think it unfair that I should go without anything for my troubles?"

"So you just come here and take what you like and just abandon us?" Abbess Linette, for as much as her role needed patience, seemed like she was about to strangle this ridiculous figure. All of them did.

"It is only the wise thing to do," the mouse shrugged, brushing an imaginary speck of dirt off his sleeve. "After all, I have seen the some of the numbers and all I can say is that your forces stand a slim chance."

"We ought'ta kick yer behind right out of this window right now," Skipper barked.

Baron frowned. "That comment was quite unnecessary, if I do say so myself. But I do advise you to vacate the area and leave somewhere South."

"Redwall has stood for ages facing the odds and it can do it again," Linette said in a cold voice.

"We should strangle the information out of 'im," Skipper snarled. For once, his anger didn't seem honed on Keetch. In fact, it seemed that the leaders had forgotten him altogether.

"Skipper, no violence," the hare abbess said coolly. Even though her voice was calm, it was only masking the fact that she was thinking the same exact thoughts. But then again, there were serious limitations within the abbey, and the abbess had to stay a symbol of peace and goodness at all times- an impossible burden during a war.

"If there's one thing I hate more than vermin, it's woodlanders turnin' on each other." The otter spat, landing the gooey mess right on the mouse's boot. Baron grimaced and jerked up to his paws, all calm melted from his face as he glared back at them. The mouse opened his mouth as if he were going to make some snide comment, but thought otherwise.

"Fine then." His voice was chilled. "I can tell when I am unwelcome. Good-bye."

Keetch stepped out of his way, allowing him to saunter up to the door.

"Hold it!" Skipper and Meles were barring the way right when he was just a tail-length away from the exit.

"You're not going anywhere until you tell us what you know," he growled.

"Payment or not," Meles finished, crossing her arms over her chest.

"You cannot use force on me in an abbey," he scoffed. "It's against your code."

"Desperate times call for desperate measures," Abbess Linette said. "So tell us what you know or else you'll die along with us."

"I see that you beasts truly are as uncivilized as they say," he said with unmistakable disdain. "Contrary to what your messenger has told you, the horde is not moving just from the North, it's also moving from East and West. Should you ever choose not to perish, I suggest you travel South as I will."

"And what else?" Skipper demanded. "Give us your word of honor that you are telling us everything you know."

"My word of honor?" The mouse put his paws at his hips as he leered. "As if I need to give an oath to make my honor apparent. But as for your precious information, I doubt you'll care as to where those savages are from."

"Tell us."

The next word made Keetch's heart freeze and shudder. "Greymorg."

* * *

Greymorg? As in the place where he was born and raised? The place that had given him nightmares and practically starved him? The place he thought he'd never have to see again?

"Greymorg?" he breathed. "Oh..."

All heads turned to face him, each one stolid like stone. Only the abbess spoke. "What is it?"

"You can't possibly fight them," he warned in a thin voice. "You can't fight them. They're invincible."

"What? What do you know about them?"

Keetch shook his head, looking down at his paws as he shuffled backwards. "There are too many of them. And if that's not enough, they have the Basilisk to finish you all off with."

"Basilisk?" Skipper rumbled. "What in 'Gates name is that?"

"A monster," he replied stonily. "I've never seen it, but from what everybeast says, it's a giant lizard set with venomous fangs half the size of the beasts it devours."

"We've faced adders before," Meles stated.

"It doesn't matter what you've faced before because we are being attacked in the _present_!" The snow fox slammed his paw against the table, not quite as hard as Skipper was able to, but he got his message across regardless. "You must all run South. You cannot win this fight. Once they send the Basilisk after you, you're all finished. Leave now while you still can. If you don't, you will all be slaughtered or enslaved."

The abbess fixed him with a suspicious look, tilting her head to the side as she asked another question. "And how do you know of this place?"

"I... lived there... _once_." He added that last word hastily. "But trust me on what I've seen, you must never get yourselves caught by them! They will enslave your children and condition them to obey every single command. They'll take away your names and assign you numbers and make you breed for more slaves. They'll feed the weak to the Basilisk, and they'll never let you know that there's a world beyond the walls. They'll raise each new generation, forcing them to believe that slavery is their only purpose in life. That is the bleak future ahead of you if you don't get out _now._"

"And abandon our abbey?" the badger exclaimed. "Never!"

"Abandon it, fine. But at least you'll have a chance to survive. Even if it's just for a while, leave it so that you can reclaim it again someday." Keetch knew that the last notion was impossible, yet he had to convince them somehow. "You all have to leave. You don't stand a chance. They have large numbers with plenty of land and weapons. They have been born and raised for war."

"We can't," Linette said firmly. "This has been a home and sanctuary- a symbol for all that is good. To abandon it now would be heinous to all that have died for a noble cause. This abbey has withstood countless others and it can do it again."

"You can't hide forever."

"And you can't run forever," she said icily.

"It's just pride, stubborness, and your own foolishness," Keetch argued. "You are completely unprepared, you don't have many weapons-"

"We have enough weapons," the hare interrupted. "It goes against our order, but as a veteran of war, I believe that preparation is necessary."

"... Fine, you have weapons, but how long will your food last?"

"Well those vermin can't last a cold winter," Skipper pointed out. "They'll freeze their tails off."

"Not if they make their own villages out of your precious forest," the seer replied. "They can wait you out as long as they want. If they're in need of supplies, their fortress of Greymorg can send them. They have plenty more reinforcements too."

"We have to hold," the abbess said once more. "We can do it. We can't give up without a fight."

"If you wait too long then there might not be any going back."

"We have to try." It was then that the abbess's patience on the subject was reaching its limits. The snow fox said nothing, not sure what else he could possibly say to change their minds. They were all too stubborn to know when they were beat.

Perhaps it was a flaw to always have been undefeated?

"In all honesty, I find your determination and strong will to be more irritating than noble, if I do say so myself." It was that obnoxious mouse again, once again not remedying the situation at hand.

"Please," he continued, though there was nothing pleading in his tone, "try to see reason. This young fox you have just hired has been giving you good advice, as have I."

The badgerlady was first to snap. "Don't patronize us, you!"

He leered at her. "Don't patronize _me_. Now if you do not mind, I believe I have told you all. And now, I shall take my leave." He shouldered his way past Skipper and Meles. "Oh, and before I forget..." He turned around half-way, a paw stuck casually in a pocket. "I find your behavior grating, even for mere commoners as low as yourselves. How odd I find it, that even a vermin has been able to conduct himself in a more civil manner and with more logic than all the three of you combined. Good-bye." And then he just simply waltzed out of the room as if he was simply wasting time there.

Skipper was first to break the silence. "That good-for-nothing load of sh-"

"Be quiet!" Linette snapped, looking out the window. From the way she was grasping the armrest to her chair, Keetch figured it would snap in an instant.

"We have to fight them off," she said softly. "This is Redwall. This is our home. Everything we know and love are all here." She turned to Keetch. "Is that it?"

"Besides the fact that they come in extremely large numbers, they're bred for war, they are capable of reinforcements and supplies from their fortress, and also that they're all disciplined, that's all the information I have," Keetch replied.

"Then go make yourself useful," Badgerlady Meles sighed. "Or are you planning to run and save your hide as well?" Keetch gulped, looking at all those accusing eyes. If this was some kind of test to see if he truly was loyal...

He had tried once before to be loyal, and he had failed. Now, all these beasts needed him and he couldn't fail anyone a second time. Martin was right about everything else. He had to be right when he told Keetch that the abbey needed him in order to survive. He was needed. He was special. He had a purpose.

"I'm staying," he replied tersely. "I can help. I'm a healer." This time there was no retort coming from Raller's mouth.

"Healer? Then go to it," Linette said, standing up to look at the horizon. "The Infirmary could use another set of paws with a war crashing down on our heads."

"Yes," he said stiffly, backing away from them. He couldn't believe it. He couldn't believe what he just did. He'd basically signed his death warrant and now all he could do was hope for the best as all these lives here would

**Come to an End**

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**If you are wondering what is up with the bold Chapter Title and ending phrase, read them both together and it will all make sense. So at first it was funny, and then it was serious, and then it was irritating (*cough* Baron *cough*). So what did you all think about this? Lots of switches in emotion, I know.**

**So what did you think? Too long? Too confusing at parts? Tell me what you honestly think. And for all you guys, thank you for reading and please take the time to review. I'd really appreciate it. :)  
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	49. Chaos Rising

**Oh my gosh guys. Sorry I haven't updated in the past month... busy and all with trips and getting adjusted to my new summer schedule and stuff. And admittedly, I struggled a lot with this chapter before I got it even remotely close to passable. I don't really like this chapter all too much, mainly because it gave me a whole lot of trouble and probably because I felt pressured to write it because it's been frikkin' FOREVER!  
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**So, without further ado I'll thank all who reviewed previously: Foxstar24, Adder of the Pit, Fwirl of Redwall, LanturtheMarlfox, Siran774, Jarrtail, Persarr, Shards-of-Airan, Icefox425, Sanfrasm, DGShadowChocolate (for the truck-load of reviews), and the lazy anonymous reviewer. Thanks guys and let me just say that Story Traffic really surprised me when I found out I had so many people reading the fic even though I hadn't updated at all last month. Really helped motivate me. :)**

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**Chaos Rising**

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_Less than several hours._

That was what the hare had said and Brink could honestly say it was a lie. They barely had the gates boarded up before the sentries started sounding the alarm.

_BONG BONG BONG!_

Even now those stupid bells were crashing against each other. It probably didn't occur to those abbeybeasts that those things didn't help at all and it was just pointless. No refugees were going to go through their gates now, and even if the sound was deafening to the vermin, it was worse for the entire abbey. Squinting one eye, he trained an arrowhead over a rat, his elbow shuddering against the strain of the bow.

He released his breath, letting his arrow fly.

He saw his victim collapse with an arrow between the shoulders. _Damn! I was aiming for the head._

But there were many more targets to worry about and even less arrows to kill them with. Grimacing, Brink leaned against the parapet wall, keeping his head low as he took a breather. There were all sorts of beasts milling about, trying to make themselves useful. Some were up against the gates, trying to enforce it as the battering ram kept barreling itself into the wood. The entrance was holding itself well, but that was the only good news. The bad news was that they were surrounded and the vermin didn't seem to be letting up any time soon.

He had no idea how long he'd been battling them off, but it felt like forever. A constant procedure of taking aim, firing, and watching something fall while another takes its place. The otter reached behind his head, his paw swiping at empty air as he sought another arrow. He cursed his luck as he spied a particularly large rat melt into the crowd. If he had just one more arrow in his quiver that one could've been dead.

He slouched back down against the wall, flinching as another shaft whistled above. Of course, it wouldn't have skewered him even if he were standing up, but the thought of that arrow still made him sweat. And besides, that thing could've found the heart of some other less fortunate beast. There were corpses littering the ground, some of them gargling blood and others slumped in death; some of them were familiar faces he'd seen and few in his sights were otters- otters he'd lived with for two seasons.

_I was just about to leave. I was close to leaving. If I did, would I be dead by now or would I be home...?_

"Water?" He nearly jumped out of his fur when a bucket slammed on the floor, nearly crushing his footpaws. The buckets were half-empty and the aged hedgehog was wheezing as he drew a gourd full of water and offered it to him.

"Thanks." Brink drained it in three gulps before handing it back.

"Good luck out there," the hedgehog rasped before turning to help the next beast. So it seemed like even the elders were out doing something to contribute to their cause. If that were the case, then everybeast he knew must've been part of the force- whether they were out on the ramparts or indoors doing something useful. He already knew that Keetch was working as a healer within the safety of the abbey. Skipper was, without a doubt, up on the ramparts- as Brink had just seen him yelling orders and flinging a myriad of weapons. He wasn't sure if Rosco was out there fighting as well. Honestly, Brink wasn't sure if he was skilled with tools of violence, but being that he was the Skipper's nephew, perhaps he considered it his duty to be a part of the combat. And then there was Jolin... she was without a doubt in the abbey, probably preparing a carefully-rationed meal for those fortunate enough to return.

_FWIP!_

Brink swore he felt the air cut against his cheek. He spun around in time to witness the hedgehog stagger backwards, a paw clutched around the shaft in his chest before he collapsed, water pooling all around him. The otter rushed up to the fallen beast, carefully levering him so that he sat up.

"Are you okay there?" It was a stupid question. That beast wasn't going to be "okay." He had an arrow lodged in his lungs, for crying out loud! He was old and exhausted. There was no way he was going to make it.

"I- I feel..." he gargled. He seemed to reach forward for something, but gave a small gasp and was still. Brink choked back a curse as he gently lay the hedgehog down. It wasn't fair! They never did anything wrong! _He _never did anything wrong. _He wasn't hurting anyone. He was just running around giving everybeast water. He was just helping. I didn't even know his name._

He felt something unbearable boil within him. That hedgehog had friends and family and his life was snuffed out just like that. And he wasn't the only one to fall. Everybeast in this abbey had someone they cared about. Somewhere in the abbey, somebeast was being left behind as their fathers, mothers, brothers, sisters, friends, and loved ones were passing on. They didn't know if they'd ever see the same faces again- or if they'd even be the same after all of this.

_They don't care about who they kill or what horrors they leave in this world._

Brink bowed his head and crossed the deadbeast's arms over his chest before someone else rushed by, unthinkingly trampling over the body and disturbing the position. Frowning, Brink did the same thing again, moving the corpse up against the wall.

_Those beasts do not deserve to live, _the voice whispered in his head. Brink tugged the shaft free from the elder's body, ignoring the blood spurting from the hole in its chest as he nocked his arrow and squinted his eye.

_They don't care about who they kill_, _just as I won't care either._

He let the arrow fly.

* * *

Even in the safety of the abbey, Keetch still could not escape the horrors of the war raging outside. Nobeast could. Insofar, their own forces had been standing its ground for over two hours, though the wounded seemed to keep pouring in an alarming rate. It was a constant stream of moaning beasts, some of them having minor cuts and some proving fatal. Of course, he had nothing to complain about, as all the beasts seemed to prefer the abbey healers rather than his help, that is, unless there was absolutely no choice.

However, he did the best he could do with the ones that came to him. Each time an otter approached on a stretcher, he felt his throat tighten. Any moment and he would probably see Brink on the table with an arrow lodged in his chest. Of course, he knew for certain that Brink had improved in weaponry since two seasons ago, but Death was didn't seem very discriminative at the moment.

The fox held his breath as he inspected the arrow wound on a squirrel's tail. "The arrow went straight through your tail," he told the squirrel as he wiped it clean of blood.

"Pulled it straight out," he bragged. "It was nothing!" And then his patient winced, gripping the edge of the table he was sitting on.

"That was nothing too," the soldier said again, forcing a brave smile. Keetch said nothing as he inspected the wound further.

_He's courageous and determined, I'll give him that, but those things don't always win wars. Numbers do. _How long would Redwall hold? While there were many beasts within its walls, they could always be killed off.

The walls were strong and could hold up for seasons, yes. But how long would the creatures inside keep strong? They weren't made of stone, no matter how much they pretended to be. He had to find something to do. There must be a way to fix everything even after they'd gone so deep. How long had it been since the Ritual of Bones? Very long. _If I did it earlier, would it have changed anything?_ He swallowed a little, his mind turning as he convinced himself it never would have made a difference and that he'd done all he could. At least, there was the one comfort that he could do it tonight. If he could sneak away and retrieve Clove...

"It's really bad out there," the squirrel suddenly said.

"How bad?" the fox asked, looking at the sea of bustling beasts. There seemed to be quite a number of stretchers being rushed here and there.

"We can win this," he replied. His voice sounded slightly strained as the healer began applying the bandage. "But it's going to be tough. There are so many out there... it makes me wonder if this is the worst Redwall's ever gotten." The woodlander swallowed hard, staring blankly to the floor. Keetch tightened the bandage, watching as a small splotch of pink began widening on the white cloth.

"Done." With that, the squirrel jumped off from the table as if to show that he was fine. He didn't even wait for a minute before he grabbed a javelin and rushed off to the direction of chaos.

Keetch sighed, feeling weary all of a sudden. Three patients had died under his care so far and he didn't want to have to deal with any more heart-broken faces as the corpses were carried away. Even though there were some times when the wounded were beyond that of his abilities, he did feel somewhat responsible.

_After this nightmare is over, I'm going to find a way to get everyone out of this place. There has to be a way to get out of here. There must be more that I can do or else Martin wouldn't have bothered to ask for my help._

He hardly got a moment's reprieve before another ailing creature was placed on his operation table. Gulping down the bile collecting at the back of his throat, Keetch got to work mixing the herbs while checking a mole's lacerations. It seemed that this was going to be the fourth beast to die on his watch as well. The woodlanders that brought him in were panting. Although they should've been out gathering more wounded, they didn't seem willing to leave until they at least knew of their friend.

"There is... nothing we can do for him," Keetch mumbled with a bowed head. "I'm sorry." The mole seemed to sense his regretful tone, groaning as he clutched at the arrow wound on his stomach, his breathing quickening to the point where his chest heaved at a rapid pace. Several beasts turned their heads down and cried, the scene too painful to watch while some others grabbed the mole's claw, easing him to his end. Keetch, however, kept a straight face as he watched Death come seize his prey. It was sudden, how the mole paused his breath, shuddered, and relaxed in death. He didn't look like he'd died peacefully in his sleep. It looked more like he saw something petrifyingly horrible before his end.

The seer's mouth twisted downwards in a mixture of regret and distaste. Several beasts started weeping as they took the body from the table and hauled it elsewhere. He had a sinking feeling in his gut- that it was his fault for not trying harder. But then again, it was Martin's fault. He should have chosen someone with more credit or at least given him fairer warning! What was wrong with him?

For all he knew, he could've saved more lives. They would've believed him if Martin told Brink or the abbess or anyone else! The most he could do was give a message to all who would listen at the very last minute.

---

_"There he is!" _

_"That's him! The one that saw it coming!"  
_

_At an instant of stepping within Great Hall, Keetch was surrounded by a horde of desperate beasts. They all clustered about him, giving him no space of his own. Overwhelmed, he couldn't discern much from the cloistering crowd, all of them yelling questions and demanding things of him._

_"Stop! Stop! Wait!" he shouted, shouldering some away before they all suffocated him.  
_

_"What should we do? What should we do?" a mousewife blubbered._

_"How did you know this was happening?" More voices.  
_

_"Did Martin tell us of an abbey champion?"_

_"Martin sent you to save us, didn't he?" _

_Keetch didn't know how much more he could take. "Everybody STOP!" The clamoring toned down in a second, followed by hushed whispers as the fox recovered. He looked around him, seeing all the hopeless and frightened beasts huddling together. Did they really think that he could do anything to help them? Even if the abbess disapproved of his suggestions, that didn't mean that he couldn't stop some other beasts from listening. Perhaps it wasn't too late for them yet._

_"Everyone, please listen to me," he announced. In the periphery of his vision, Keetch could see beasts rushing about in preparation for war, though they kept their ears pricked at all times. "Everyone, I think we should all head South to somewhere." Now there were angered whisperings in the crowd._

_"You can go if you want," Keetch offered. "You will at least be alive. You can't fight the forces coming this way. We have to all leave this place or die."_

_"You want us to give up without a fight?!"_

_"Vermin!"_

_"But Martin always sends us a warrior to save us!"_

_"Then why don't _you_ leave?" He couldn't answer that last question. _

_"I... I..." he began, his voice growing hoarse. He had no idea either, but he had a feeling that he should stay. It might have been that Clove was probably too fragile for traveling or that maybe Brink would never give up so easily. Either way, he had a gut feeling that told him not to go. "Because Martin said that I should stay. He has his reasons." And then he added with force, "But he said that you should all run. Run and find reinforcements for us. Redwall can't live if nobeast lives to reclaim it someday!"  
_

_Now the anger had died down and everybeast was whispering to themselves all over again. He saw some arguments bursting up in front of him, but he didn't say any more. There was nothing else to say anyways. But it later came to his surprise when some beasts heeded his advice, grabbing their families and a few precious belongings before rushing through the closing gates.  
_

Lying or not, at least he managed to save a pawful. If Martin really wanted them to stay and fight this madness, then he should've said so before. It still bothered him, how the warrior mouse wasn't contacting him. _No matter,_ he told himself. _I should at least have some information by the time I can complete the ritual..._

* * *

Clove lay in her bed, staring straight up at the ceiling. She hadn't seen Keetch since the bells started ringing. Ever since that crazy long-eared beast came bursting in and yelling things, everybeast was terrified, all of them running around and yelling things. Even Keetch seemed scared as he ordered her to stay with the other Dibbuns. At first, Clove had insisted on staying with him, but with the way he commanded her to do as she was told, she had to obey; before she knew it, she and the other children were all herded to rooms with no windows while some mothers sat with them and hugged the littlest ones close.

The rabbit stayed locked up in that tiny room, fearful of the bustling sounds coming from the other sides of the door. The mothers hushed the children, telling them that nobeast was coming in to hurt them. _But if Clove can't get hurt, why does she have to stay here? Why is everybeast so scared if Vermin can't get us?_

She had no idea how long she stayed down in there. They had been somewhere deep underground and she could hear nothing about what was going on outside. For all she knew, Keetch would need her help. But then again, he had ordered her to stay with them.

And now here she was, safely transported on a higher ground where beds were available. Was Keetch alright? She couldn't sleep. Suddenly, the door creaked open. She turned her head the other way, pretending to be deep in a dream.

"Clove?" a familiar voice whispered. She jerked up almost immediately.

"Keetch!"

"Shhhh!" he hissed. She clamped her paws over her mouth, scanning the room. It seemed like everyone was still sound asleep. He motioned her closer with one paw, though seeing how she was already jumping off her bed, that was quite unnecessary.

"Keetch!" she sighed, hugging him tight. "Clove was really scared. Are Vermin really coming to eat Clove?"

"They've stopped fighting for now," he replied, prying her off of him while he looked around. Seeing no one, he closed the door, grabbed her wrist, and led her away. He was fast, eyes constantly on the move and not even sparing her a backward glance as she struggled to keep up with his stride.

_Keetch,_ she wanted to say, _Where is Keetch taking Clove? Is Keetch and Clove going to run away?_ But she kept her mouth shut. From the way he hunched his shoulders and stuck close to the walls, she had the feeling that he was not in a talking mood. The lanterns were dim and she couldn't tell which direction they were going. They were rushing up and down through many halls and so many stairs. But whatever happened, Clove noticed that Keetch was avoiding all the busy places where everybeast usually was.

Finally, they reached a small little room and Keetch motioned her inside. The place was dark and empty until Keetch struck a flint and lighted a lamp inside. Now it was just empty.

"Clove," Keetch whispered as he closed the door, revealing a wrapped package pushed up against the wall. Obviously, he'd picked this spot carefully for something. "Do you know what tonight is?" She shook her head, though she had a feeling that it wasn't anything good.

"Tonight we have to do the ritual," he said as he unraveled the box and opened it to reveal the engraved bones. She watched as he arranged them carefully on the floor, taking a piece of chalk and drawing symbols on the ground. Her ears flopped as she noticed a knife laid out next to him. She rubbed her arm unconsciously, remembering all the times Grack had cut her for blood. It wasn't fair.

_Keetch was always nice to Clove._ He had never beat her before or anything, so why was he hurting her like this? During the harsh winter when Grack wouldn't give her food, he would give her some scraps if she begged. When she got hurt or sick, he sometimes took the time to give her medicine. So why did he have to be like her old master? None of the other children had scars like her.

"Alright Clove." Keetch beckoned her forward, a palm turned upwards. She took a step forward but hesitated, glaring at the knife.

"Clove," the fox repeated, "come here."

"No."

"What?"

"No," she pouted. "Clove is not a slave."

"What?" he hissed impatiently. "Of course you're not a slave. Just get over here."

"No." She took a few steps backwards. "It hurts." Her guardian said nothing at first, looking at her as the knife lowered.

"Clove." His voice was gentle but stern. "You have to do this. If I can't get any signs- if I don't know what to do, everyone will die and that includes us."

"Dibbuns can do it," she said simply. "Can't Keetch not choose Clove? Why does Keetch want to hurt Clove?" She sniffled piteously at the last statement, edging away from him. He sighed heavily before he answered her.

"Clove, I don't have time for this. Listen, I can only do the Ritual of Bones with your blood because I trust you."

She tilted her head. "Keetch trusts Clove?" She took a tiny step forward.

"That's right," he nodded. "This is a secret, so only you and I know. It's our secret and we don't tell anyone else. It's just us."

"Just us?" she repeated. Now she was just several paces away from him.

"Yes." And then his tone turned grave. "Because if anybeast knows that I do this, they'll kill me." Clove could've sworn her ears sprung straight up at that news.

"Kill Keetch?! Why?"

"Because I'm a seer," he replied slowly, stretching a paw out. "If anybeast knew that I hurt a Dibbun, they'd be very angry at me. They would kill me if they knew I ever mistreated you and made you my slave. So," he beckoned her forward with a claw, "do you want me to die?" She shook her head furiously, creeping closer so that he was able to reach forward and grab her wrist.

"B-but... wouldn't Brink protect Keetch?" she squeaked.

"It's not enough."

"But why can't Keetch and Clove just run away?"

"It's too late for that now." She shut her eyes as he pushed her sleeve up and pressed the cold metal on her upper arm, the blade pinching her skin slightly. And then she gasped as the knife zipped through her flesh, blood oozing up from the thin cut to dribble down her arm. She felt the fox touch her shoulder, suggesting that she kneel over the pile of bones so that her blood could fall directly on it.

She felt herself relaxing, relieved that the worst was over. And now Keetch too was kneeling on the ground, reading they symbols that the scarlet liquid would pool into. His brow furrowed as he read out what Fate was revealing. From what she could tell, it was nothing good. Clove stayed frozen to the spot, trembling as her knees became weak from her position. However, the seer hadn't yet given her permission to stand. For some reason, he was completely absorbed in his task.

_What does Keetch see?_ she wanted to say. _Is it bad? Won't Keetch tell Clove?_ But once again, she kept her mouth shut.

By the time he allowed her to stand up, the bleeding had long since stopped. She didn't even say a word as Keetch dabbed her bloodied arm with a rag, erasing all traces of wrongdoing. And then he rubbed some ointment on the cut before pulling her sleeve over the injury.

"There," he said tersely. "Done." He turned his back away from her, scooping the bones and tossing the jumbled heap into the box. And then he continued his clean-up, doing a thorough job of rubbing out the chalk markings from the floor.

He blew out the lamp and opened the door, not even seeming to care if anyone saw him. "Let's go." She followed quickly. He seemed angry, though not at her. Clove followed him as he led her back briskly, hardly checking along the way to make sure she was following. And all this while, Clove's head was abuzz with worrisome thoughts and questions. Just what was going on? Why was everybody so frightened when Redwall was so strong and had so many big beasts to fight? What did the vermin look like? Why were they so frightening? Why did they want to attack the abbey? Why does Keetch even want to help the Redwallers anyways? And most of all, why would the Redwallers want to kill Keetch for something as little as some spilt blood. They certainly didn't kill Grack! But what would she do if they decided to kill him? _Clove would protect Keetch and scare Redwallers all away,_ she vowed to herself. _Clove won't let nobody touch her Keetch._

"Get inside and get some sleep." She hardly noticed that they'd reached the Dibbuns' bedroom. She shuffled inside, wondering if her guardian would entrust her with any more of his secrets. Instead, he just closed the door, leaving her to totter blindly around the room before she felt an empty bed. After kicking at the tangle of sheets and blankets, she lay her head on her pillow, closed her eyes, and tried to get some rest. She couldn't.

---

Elsewhere deep in the forests, other beasts couldn't sleep either- not when they're being rounded up into cages. These victims were desperate beasts who were willing to do anything to make sure that their families stayed alive. All of those who'd traveled from afar had suggested that they travel South and they had taken their word for it. And now, they were going to pay for having hope.

A mouse stayed hidden behind a tree trunk, trying to slow his breathing as he watched the poor fools get bound and herded together, the children and elderly slaughtered before their very eyes. _Vermin. Disgusting brutes._ He could already feel cold sweat budding from his forehead as he gripped the hilt of his rapier, making sure he stayed hidden. As dumb as vermin were, these ones were quite smart, hiding just a little South so that the easy refugees could walk right into their claws.

Baron swallowed hard, looking around to see if anybeast saw him. So far, none. He crouched down, grimacing as some mud sucked his boot under. It took some effort, but he tugged it free soundlessly, still undetected. _Just how did it become like this?_ He grit his teeth as he crept away from the cackling vermin. He had been lucky that the group of woodlanders ahead of him were attacked first. If they hadn't been there, he would have received no warning whatsoever.

He had barely escaped, hacking through some vermin as he dashed through the undergrowth. And now here he was, slithering and creeping around like a disgusting little insect. He remembered when he used to hunt bands of vermin but now it seemed that the tables had turned. _As long as this is the first wave of vermin in the South, then I might just be able to rush back to the abbey unharmed. If there are more vermin coming this way...  
_

Dressed in torn and muddy attire, he kept off the road, leaving the wailing prisoners behind. It was not like he could have done them any good anyways. He was injured too, after all, as he suffered some cuts and bruises along his limbs. But rather than pained, he felt exhausted. No food, no water; just walking in the opposite direction of those hideous creatures. He stopped to lean against a tree for a rest.

He closed his eyes just for one second before he heard a soft crunching noise behind him. He whirled around just in time for a cutlass to shove its way through his stomach.

He awoke with a jolt, panting as he stared blindly at the darkness. His senses came back slowly, allowing his heartbeat to return to normal. He didn't have to worry about fatigue anymore, as he was now wide awake. The mouse struggled back to his feet, his paws feeling for his weapons and bag of jewels. _Still there..._

He trudged onward, wishing for the sun to finally rise. To his relief, things were finally going his way, as the forest seemed to be lightening somewhat. _But... _It wasn't the sunrise. The glow was the result of several campfires around the forest. His eyes widened. _Of course... this was folly, believing that I could reach the abbey unscathed. If they were actually intelligent enough to send troops farther down to catch strays then they would surely have surrounded the abbey._

The creatures were either sleeping or muttering among themselves as they sharpened their weapons and bandaged their wounds. _So it seems that they had a skirmish? The abbey is still standing. It truly is remarkable how the simpletons have survived thus far against these kinds of odds._ He craned his neck, looking for any signs of guards. They seemed overconfident, leaning against fallen tree trunks as they stared dully at the redstone building up ahead. Where there was once a beautiful ring of grass and wildflowers surrounding the abbey, a battle field had taken its place- fallen, gnarled bodies heaped on the dirt. Gouged wheel marks were also evident on the ground, a result of some failed battering ram.

_So what do I do now?_ Baron thought to himself. _I could run for the abbey, but I would be cut down by the enemy archers before I even reached the door. If there's any time to reach them, it's now. But how...?_

An idea struck him. It was risky, but possible.

While plenty of vermin kept to company around the campfires, Baron noticed that a few had scattered themselves within the woods, preferring their own solitude. How fortunate it was for the mouse that a young rat had chosen to rest on a tree stump up ahead. _Hideous beast is probably half my age and bigger than I am. _Creeping up to the rat, Baron kept his head low, making sure that nobeast was facing them or looking in their direction or anything of the sort.

The job had to be done fast and quietly in order for it to work. He flipped a dagger out from his belt, grabbing the rat's snout before plunging the blade through its throat. The creature stiffened, its calloused paws clamping over his killer's before it slumped over with a moan. Baron wasted little time in dragging the foul-smelling carcass farther back into the woods. The body was heavy and the mouse knew that he didn't have much time before the sun rose.

Quickly, he took his red jacket off, tying the sleeves across his waist and folding the rest of it so that it didn't drag on the ground. Then, he grabbed the tunic off the rat's corpse, groaning inwardly as he did so. _I can't believe I've fallen to this..._ He pulled it over his head, nearly gagging at the smell as he straightened the folds out. Then he grabbed the rat's helmet, placing it on his head only to find that it was too large for him. The mouse considered taking the rat's belt as well, but it was so worn and ugly- a simple leather strap tied in a knot around his waist. His own belt suited him just fine, though he worried for his weapons- particularly his rapier. They were too shiny and well-crafted, and thus, too noticable in those vermins' greedy eyes. He bent down and scooped a pawful of dirt and mud, rubbing the filth on the hilts of his weapons in hopes that it made them look more ordinary. He didn't know if it would fool anybeast, but it was worth a try.

After kicking the body under a bush, he walked towards camp as casually as he could, never looking at anybeasts' eyes as he wandered through the outskirts of the camp. And then, carefully he strode past the tree line.

"'ey!" Baron pretended not to hear it. "Hey! Orders were to stay 'ere!" Again, Baron ignored the guard, choosing instead to swerve a bit to the left, hoping the guard would dismiss him as some drunkard. _The indignity of it all..._

The fact that his ears could detect the snickerings in the background didn't help either as he tottered about in the open field, nearly tripping over the grotesque bodies. He didn't look back, but he swore that the vermin were probably huddled at the tree line watching the lunatic that was intoxicated enough to go wandering about the battlefield- a walking target for those Redwallers.

He continued the act, eyes focused on the abbey ramparts while he walked in that clumsy gait. _Just a little farther._

_Shhhhhh-thunk!_ The arrow felt like a punch to the arm, knocking him backwards at first. He looked down, nearly panicking as he recognized the thing jutting from his arm. _Now_ he was within the Redwallers' shooting range. He stumbled to the left, noticing how two more arrows skewered the patch of dirt he was standing on just moments before. He ripped his helmet off his head as he ran up to the abbey in a frantic pace, nearly tripping over the fallen bodies.

"SANCTUARY! SANCTUARY!" he screamed. That didn't seem to stop the rain of arrows, though. He ran in a zig-zag direction, arrows zooming at him from every direction.

_THWIP!_ And that arrow came from the other side of the field. He chanced a look backwards to see some vermin past the tree line, arrows trained on him.

"I'm a mouse!" he shouted, though he doubted anybeast up on those walls could hear him. "I come in peace!" Another arrow whizzed by his face. Out of desperation, he untangled the jacket around his waist, waving it wildly in the air.

"Open the gates!" he yowled as he pounded on the doors. He was still out of the range of the vermin for now, but he was feeling dizzy and he began getting the crazy idea that the woodlanders would leave him outside to die in their paws. He glanced behind, horrified to see that some vermin archers were advancing on him and soon they would be within range.

"Get in!"

He started at the large laundry basket that fell from the sky. He stared at it, looked at the rope attached to it, and-

"Aaaaaaugh!" He wriggled and squirmed, squealing as something pinched hard at his right ear and wouldn't let go.

"Get in the basket!" a voice demanded from above. _In the basket? In the basket! _He whimpered and stood on the tips of his toes, grabbing at the arrow that pierced his ear as he attempted to yank it out. He tried to twist it, using both paws as they scrambled madly for a firm hold but it was so hard with beasts yelling at you from above and the vermin coming forward with more arrows and another arrow in his arm and-

_Thunk!_

An arrow clipped a whisker before thrusting itself into the wood. Baron screamed again as his efforts doubled- no- tripled! He pressed his back hard against the gate, straining as he pulled at the arrow with all his might, yowling like a madbeast as he twisted at the shaft.

_Snap!_

And now he had half an arrow pinning his ear to the gates.

_Blast it ALL!_ He jerked himself to the left, feeling himself pull free as he held his arms up to protect his face as he stumbled into the wicker basket.

"Oof!" He barely had any time to pull himself in completely before the cramped container gave a pull upward and he began swaying crazily in mid-air, the angry cries of both sides mingling in his ears. And speaking of which...

"Oh Great Seasons!" he sobbed, feeling the empty space where his ear once was. He started jibbering to himself like a lunatic, feeling the side of his face where blood was trickling down.

"Easy, easy there!"

"Grab that end!" He felt himself lean precariously on one side as the his basket started tilting at a dangerous angle. He dug his claws in on the rim, clenching his eyes and jaws as he prepared himself for the deadly fall. Suddenly it jerked back to balance as he was hoisted up again. There was a grating vibration where his footpaws and bottom were, and the next thing he knew, he was on sturdy ground, a group of beasts yelling as torches were re-lit and arrows and slingstones were unleashed.

"It's a mouse!"

"Look at his ear!"

"Get him inside, someone!"

"What's going on?" Somebeast (he thought it was an otter) grabbed him by the collar of his shirt. "WHAT happened? Why did you come back like this?"

"Skipper, leave him alone!"

"Hold on, hold on!"

"You'll kill him!"

"He's wounded, oh!"

"What happened?! What happened to the others?" the riverhound asked.

"Captured," Baron forced in his most powerful voice. However, his volume came rather meek, as his chest was heaving and he felt so faint. "Gone. Gone..." He felt the paws release him as their faces started drifting away. "The South has been cut off. There's no escape for anyone."

* * *

**Listen... I've been working on this chapter all day and it's 4:40 AM and I just wanna call it a night soon. Just review and tell me what you think/predict please... deal? **

**Happy 4th of July, everyone! :)  
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	50. Spirit of Guidance

**It has certainly been a while, hasn't it? Well, *cracks knuckles* I managed to get this down (finally). SO! Let's see what happens next. The thing that got me stuck is that I had to fight off some cheesiness and not make my dialogue to boring and info-dumpy. I tried my best and so finally... here you go. :)**

**Special thanks to all who reviewed: Persarr, DGShadowChocolate, Jarrtail, Shards-of-Airan, Fwirl of Redwall, Quavera Tava (for all the bunches of reviews that made me happy :) ), Martin the Warrior of Redwall, and the anonymous Reader (who by the way, has the right to criticize even though he/she doesn't write ;) ).**

**'Nuff talk. So, kick back, relax, enjoy the nice twist at the end, and review! :D  
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**Spirit of Guidance**

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Cavern Hole was crammed with beasts, an effort to organize an "emergency war meeting" of sorts. The atmosphere breathed in a grim sort of way as everybeast started demanding questions and suggestions of what to do. The young mouse slouched over his table, fatigue beginning to ebb away at his thoughts. Even after the enemy retreat was confirmed, Melo wasn't able to get any rest- and it wasn't a sense of excitement or adventure pulsing in his veins. It was his first battle and it had surprised him how much his paws shook when he aimed fire at his first vermin. For however long he aimed, he just couldn't release his bow. It was as if his mind just stopped, time froze, and he just couldn't let go despite how weak his paws were feeling from all the shaking.

It was a lucky thing that Skipper was there, for if he'd kept himself exposed any longer he might've been shot through the eye before the otter could yank him back down to safety. He hung his head a little, recalling his stupidity as some more voices droned on in the meeting. How could he freeze in the thick of battle like that?! _Some warrior I am,_ he thought miserably. And he couldn't blame his age for his actions. There were so many young beasts out there that fought splendidly. Brink and Sarrow, to name a few.

Speaking of which...

"Let me squeeze in." Melo barely had any time to react before the squirrelmaid shoved her way between him and another beast, settling comfortably on the bench. She seemed just as tired as he was, black circles around her eyes and her fur all ruffled and dirtied.

"Did you get hurt?" she asked softly. For once in her life she seemed at a loss for words.

He shook his head. "No. Did you?"

She shook her head as well, looking down at her paws as she rubbed them together. "I saw Jerome... There was an arrow through his throat. I moved and he got killed." She didn't say any more than that- not like Melo would have wanted more gruesome images in his mind. The mouse sighed, putting a comforting paw on his friend's shoulder. She seemed capable on the ramparts and now she was falling apart.

"It's going to be all right," he reassured her, wondering if there was a single shred of truth in his words. They used to boast about how many imaginary vermin they had killed in their play fights. But this wasn't a game anymore. Beasts got hurt. Beasts died.

_Thock- Thock- Thock_

The wooden ladle made a poor gavel for the abbess as she attempted to hush the crowd. There was only a slight reprieve after the cease-fire, and now _this_ had sprung up. How could that have happened? All those poor woodlanders that simply wanted to get away from all the violence and the fighting... they weren't cowards. They couldn't fight and they had a family to take care of. They didn't deserve what happened to them.

"Everybeast! Everybeast, please just be quiet!" The noise died down once the abbess had jumped onto the table, holding her arms out in the air for silence. "As you know, we are..." Linette swallowed briefly before continuing, "... we are completely surrounded from all sides and all who have fled South have been either killed or captured." More hushed whisperings as heads began to move.

"Please," the hare announced forcefully. "For whatever anger you have for this tragedy, don't blame it on anybeast that has suggested that we head South. I am sure that Sagewood, Baron, and Keetch, all had good intentions and had no idea of the outcome. _Do not_ blame this on our allies. It is our enemies that are at fault, so don't turn on each other no matter what you do. Rather, I would prefer all of you to please put your heads together and think of something useful."

"Why don't we see what 'Martin' has to say," somebeast shouted. Melo pulled his head off the table, swiveling his head with the others in an attempt to find the culprit. He remembered seeing the fox somewhere in this war meeting, but wherever he was, he wasn't in sight right now. Perhaps he was too ashamed to show his face after the first few minutes? Whatever happened, Melo had no doubt in his mind now that the fox was a spy sent to sabotage them like this. How else would he know that the vermin army was coming? Even _if_ Martin had chosen to speak to him, the prospect of the legendary warrior betraying innocent beasts was completely out of the question.

_It just wouldn't make sense, _Melo thought to himself as he kept his eyes on the whispering beasts around him. _Just as it doesn't make sense why he's not being imprisoned or interrogated right now._

"As if Martin makes a difference!" That voice was unmistakably Brink's. Like a wave, heads from all directions turned to the otter and his vermin companion. From what Melo could tell, the fox's head seemed bowed over the table. "If memory serves me right- which it _does_- three beasts said the same thing: go South. They were wrong too."

Out of his own defense, Lieutenant Sagewood stood up. "There is a difference there. I happened to tell exactly wot I saw while that vermin made a proper botch of things by claiming Martin said them. It was clearly a ruse to trick us all into slavery!"

Now Brink was standing up. _Just like him to always want to butt heads at a time like this, _Melo thought sourly.

"That's the problem! If Martin told you to go jump off a bridge, would ye do it? If Martin came to you in a dream and told you to walk outside and give the vermin candy, would you do it?! Martin. Is. Dead. He is not a ghost. He is not a powerful spirit manifesting itself in all of us. He is dead. Gone! Just like any other dead beast. His existence in dreams doesn't make sense and the heroics of his "chosen ones" took place hundreds of years ago! Who knows how wildly the exaggerations have gone since then? Yes, Keetch was being stupid for even mentioning a magical non-existent ghost, but-"

"That's enough!" the abbess barked. "This is off topic and I will not tolerate any such disrespect to the abbey. Is that clear, Brink?"

Brink opened his mouth, probably to argue against that too, but in the end he managed a tight "Yes marm" and sat back down.

"This is a war meeting," she continued, looking out at everybeast. "This is no debate or interrogation. Now, everybeast please tell me what plans you have." Finished with what she had to say, the elderly hare sat back down, waiting for the next brave soul to speak his opinion. Finally, Skipper cleared his throat and sat up.

"Well, Mother Abbess, if you insist on not making this an interrogation, then I suggest that we all consider possible allies. Unfortunately, Salamandastron's got its paws tied with their own share of vermin scum, so we cannot rely on them. So far, the only beasts trained for combat here are the Guosim an' me holt. Now, I was thinking that we could maybe find reinforcements from elsewhere. I'm talking about Southsward."

_Southsward?! But that's far down South. We haven't even kept in contact with that kingdom either..._

"I know it's been a long time," Skipper continued, "but they are still indebted to us after what happened with Urgan Nagru. I know we can't just waltz down there with all the vermin 'bout, but we can maybe pass a message along _somehow._"

"We could send it by bird," Meles pointed out. "While we don't have any Sparras living here anymore, there are some birds that come here sometimes. They understand _a bit_ of our language."

"True," Abbess Linette sighed, scratching her graying headfur. "But all this war has probably scared all the birds away by now. Even if we were friends with them, I don't blame them for fleeing for their lives..."

"Ungrateful creatures," Skipper muttered. And then the otter's head tilted up slightly. "What about sending a small group to Southsward? I know it's dangerous, but smaller groups do have a better chance at making it out of there alive..."

"But how are we going to get our own beasts out there without being detected?" the badgerlady asked. "In case you're forgetting, Skipper, they have guards posted at our perimeter."

"... good point." The otter sat leaned against the table as he went deep in thought. Now the entire war meeting seemed to be downcast.

"Melo." For the first time since the meeting began, he remembered that Sarrow was sitting next to him. He never knew she could be so quiet. "Do you think we can win this?"

"Maybe... but it would be easier if we weren't alone." That second part was forcefully admitted. With the South blocked off and Salamandastron under attack, who was left?

"Keetch," the abbess said, her voice sounding muddled to Melo's ears- as if his head was full of cobwebs. Melo frowned, shaking the fatigue out of his mind. "Could you please tell us about what Greymorg is after? Can you tell us anything about them that's useful?"

The fox frowned a bit before answering in a nervous voice. "I have told you before. They are here for your land and for the fortress as well as sl-"

"No," the hare interrupted. "What I mean is, aren't there any battle strategies or plans they might have followed? Any sort of weaknesses you've kept from us?"

"I've kept _nothing_ from you," Keetch insisted. There was some jeering from the abbeybeasts at this, and Melo couldn't help but join in. How dare he say something like that? How could anyone believe all the lies he'd been telling them all? Taking up a Dibbun and coming to Redwall in peace? It was all a lie- a big fat lie that everybeast should have noticed. _Including me. I actually _believed_ him at one point._

"Are you sure?" Skipper pressed. "You must know something. You lived there your entire life. You said so yourself!" There was some gasping from the crowd and even Brink looked surprised.

"... Yes. I was raised there, but as a lowly foot soldier. Besides, Greymorg had never been in war for generations. They were always preparing and planning for war but... I never knew they were targeting this... But..." He lifted his head, raising his voice. "But I think there might be something I can tell you." He paused at that, letting the crowd's murmurings die down.

"Did Martin tell us what to do again?" somebeast shouted.

"No," he said stiffly. "Martin had nothing to do with this." And now the Melo's ears were drowning in conversations from all sides. But even as all of this was going on, Melo couldn't help but feel uneasy about something. The way Keetch said the mouse warrior's name, was it anger in his voice? The fox certainly didn't look angry, but his tone told a different story.

_Thock- thock- thock_

All talk ceased by the time Abbess laid the make-shift gavel on the table.

"Keetch, continue," she ordered.

The vermin nodded, speaking slowly and carefully. "I think that the North wouldn't have many soldiers around if you get past the abbey perimeter. I think Greymorg would send its forces in waves. The first wave is the largest, and would cover as much ground in Mossflower as they possibly can, enslaving the woodlanders scattered in the area. And then they would center all their forces on its biggest enemies- you and Salamandastron. From what I can understand, they moved troops to hurry to the South because they anticipated refugees. They wouldn't expect any of us to head North... not like there are any allies left in Mossflower."

"So..." the badgerlady said. "You are saying that the vermin swept through Mossflower like a plague and all of them are here with us? Is that what you're saying?"

"Yes," he answered. There was no doubt in his voice now and the entire Cavern Hole was silent.

"Are you sure of this?" Meles asked solemnly.

"I'm quite sure."

"So are you saying that we should all evacuate North now?" Skipper questioned. He was clenching a fist over the table as he addressed the vermin. "Is that what you want? Try to send us off in droves in all sorts of directions so your friends could pick us off?"

"That wasn't my intention in the first place."

"Then what _now_?" the otter demanded.

"I am saying that it could work. It should work. I should have realized earlier how dangerous Greymorg could be."

"But what's left for us in the North?" Linette asked. "What do we do if we're North of Mossflower? How far is Greymorg and where would we go?"

"You would have to go far North to get there and you would have to cross a strait," he answered. "But... I'm not sure where you would go. Greymorg would have wiped out any potential allies down the path."

_Potential allies. So that's it? We were simply taken by surprise and now we're going to die all alone like this? It can't happen this way. We have to make it out somehow. There has to be some ally that we have overlooked. Wasn't there anything that could oppose the army? Wasn't there anything in the world that was a potential ally or were they wiped out too? It's not fair. We didn't have any time. We didn't know. _

_No... I mustn't lose hope now. We can still win this. We can. We've faced the odds before and we can do it again. Martin would never back down. He would face those vermin head on._

Melo pushed his seat back as he stood straight up, ignoring the eyes that turned to stare at him.

"So are there no enemies of Greymorg?" he asked, his voice higher-pitched than he would have liked. "Doesn't Greymorg have any enemies or slaves we could turn to? Would the slaves revolt? Aren't there any strong forces up there that we could turn against them?"

The snow fox was quiet, ears twitching contemplatively. "The slaves are hopeless," he announced flatly. "They can't fight and they would never revolt. Those slaves they keep in there, they were born and raised in slavery and are carefully separated from the new slaves so that not a single one of them is aware of a free life outside of Greymorg. And as for... others..." He paused. "There are some more beasts out there- mostly groups and clusters of woodlanders that live deep in the pine forests scrounging for food and avoiding the fort at all costs. And then there are the wolves."

_Wolves?_

"The wolves and woodlanders once warred against Greymorg generations ago, but they're now simply shadows of their former selves, nomads in their own land."

"B-but..." Melo clenched his teeth together and swallowed back the bitter truth. He could barely salvage any former hope after Keetch's words. "What if we go over-seas? Maybe we could-"

"But if all Keetch says is true, we have no means of getting a ship," the abbess interrupted. The elderly hare seemed to be in a melancholy state, looking down. His hopes defeated, Melo shrank back into his chair as the warriors whispered amongst one another once more. _I really wish they'd all just shut up._

He didn't dare face Sarrow as she put a comforting paw on his shoulder.

"It was a very good try," she offered. "Going off to find allies against a fortress and starting a slave rebellion... it sounds a lot like Martin's legend at the fall of Marshank." He smiled weakly at that, just noticing the connections. _Seems like she's picking back up after that battle._

"I... do know a way to get out of Redwall and past the guards..." Melo snapped his head up to see Keetch standing again.

"I mean," he continued in a shaky voice, "I know a secret passageway out of here. There are collapsed tunnels all around Redwall's base, down in the unused parts of its lower levels there are passages we could use."

"Are you..." the badger gaped. "Are you suggesting that we try to escape through _that_ route? _Trust_ you-"

"You're mad!" Skipper growled. "If yore so certain about these things, why don't you just go ahead and throw yourself in their clutches, eh? Oh wait, you'd like that, wouldn't ye? Being with all your evil little vermin buddies again!"

"That's not true," Keetch replied coldly. "I'm leaving this place." And now all of Cavern Hole was filled with empty quiet.

"So you're admitting it, then," the otter chieftain replied smugly. "You're running back to them."

"No, I'm not," the fox answered. "I'm leaving. I'm getting away from here, and everybeast-"

"Running away?" Skipper sneered. "Heh. Why am I not surprised, you running away with the tail between your legs."

"At least I'll be alive," Keetch replied, his voice tight. "And everyone who's smart would do the same."

"And did 'Martin' tell you to do this?" the abbess questioned coldly.

"No," he answered. "Martin told me about the tunnel and told me that all the women and children should leave. That last time about running South, he never instructed me on that, but I used his name in what I thought was right. It was... a mistake..." All of a sudden, the room had burst into an uproar.

_He's a complete moron if he actually thinks that anyone would follow his advice after what happened to the last group,_ Melo thought. _It's probably- no. It's _definitely_ just as Skipper says. He's just trying to lead us into another trap._

"And so what are you going to do when you escape?" the badger asked, her teeth showing in a snarl. "When and where do you plan on going?"

"I'm... leaving as soon as possible. Dawn, maybe. Then I'm... going to hide for a while until I find an opportunity," the fox answered, lowering his head ever so lightly.

"Well," Skipper snorted. "If any of you all want to throw your lot in with him, you can all be my guest. Die if ye want."

There didn't need to be a vote. Everybeast from the most seasoned warriors to the newest healers knew that nobody was going on this suicide mission.

---

_"Would Keetch like more tea?" she asked, lifting the dainty pink teapot. There was a slight breeze tickling her face and the sky was a dazzling blue, dotted with clumps of clouds here and there. It was the perfect kind of day for the perfect kind of picnic._

"Clove..."

_"Yes, Clove." The little rabbit giggled and tipped the pot, the soothing scent of tea brewing in the air._

"Clove..."

_"One lumpy or two?" she asked, picking the tiny cubes of sweet things with her fingers._

"Clove, wake up." She blinked her eyes in an effort to awaken, but her eyelids were already drooping.

"Clove!" There was a tug at her arm and the little rabbit was awake.

"Huh?" she rolled over to the other side to see a familiar figure standing next to her bed.

"Keetch?" she mumbled sleepily. "One lumpy or two?"

"I need to talk to you outside," he whispered, spinning on his heel and walking towards the door. She yawned first, sitting up to stretch her arms as she looked around the room. All the other Dibbuns were sleeping peacefully, undisturbed by anything going on beyond the walls of the room. Carefully, she pushed the sheets off herself and lowered herself to the floor.

"Keetch?" She nudged the door open and peeked out. He was standing outside the room with his back to her, obviously deep in thought. "Keetch?" Even if he always acted strange and distant, Clove sensed that something was wrong about him. He was angry earlier on, and now he seemed... well, she wasn't quite sure what was wrong, but he didn't seem like himself.

"Keetch?" she repeated, sensing some need to whisper as softly as possible. The halls were too quiet and empty, the spidery shadows giving an eerie feel to it.

"Follow me," he said before walking off briskly. He didn't even find the time to grab her wrist and lead her along. She hesitated, looking back at the Nursery door before following him doggedly. It just didn't make sense. Why would he wake her twice in the middle of the night? Or was it already daytime? The windows had all been boarded up, so she couldn't tell.

More than once, she had nearly lost him in the darkness. Down down down, it felt like they were going until he stopped at another splintered door. It looked familiar, like the door they had went to earlier. Without a word, Keetch pushed it open, the hinges creaking as some sad light wandered into the room. He nodded at her, signaling to enter. The moment she passed through the door frame, he had lit a lamp on an empty shelf, the light illuminating a faint yellow.

"Is..." She paused at the sound of fear in her voice. "Is Keetch not well?" He didn't answer her- not right away at least. Rather, he turned slowly turned to a wooden case next to him. Instantly, Clove backed away, a paw placed on her wounded arm.

"B-but..." she stammered. He opened the case, taking out a knife and a small jar the size of a teacup.

"Clove," he said. "Please come here. There's something important that I have to tell you."

"But Clove doesn't want to be hurted."

"Clove," he sighed. "This is going to be very important to me. So come here, please." The way he said it, it sounded tired and almost pleading. She thought to herself for a moment, staring at her footpaws for a second before they moved forward as if they had a mind of their own. Only when she was in front of him did he speak.

"Clove," he said, putting a paw on her head. "I know this is difficult for you, but I need more blood." He held up the jar. "More blood than usual from you." The Dibbun blinked back at him, feeling her face drain and go ashen pale.

"What?" she asked in a meek voice. "Why?" He touched her wrist, but before he could grab it, she had snatched it back, pressing it against herself.

"But why more, Keetch?"

"... Because I'm leaving Redwall and I need more blood in case I need to do the ritual in the future." _Going away? But... why? Why would Keetch go?_

"But didn't Keetch love Redwall?" Clove asked. "Keetch said it would be safe..."

"Not anymore," he said tersely.

"Where's Keetch going to go?"

Again, he paused. "I... don't know. But wherever I'm going, it's going to be dangerous and I could be killed out there. I'll need whatever I can get."

"But... why does Keetch need a jar if Clove is coming along too?" she questioned.

"Clove." His voice was stiff. "Just let me get it. It will only last for a little while and I'll bandage it up and everything, alright? Just do as I say and trust me. I just need it."

"Y-yes..." she said, holding out her arm. "If Keetch needs it, Clove will give it." The fox gave her a slight nod, holding her paw as he placed the knife near her wrist. She gulped, clenching her teeth and shutting her eyes.

"I know that it's a little close to your main veins," he reassured softly. "But trust me, I won't do anything that would kill you. You'll be fine." She nodded in reply, waiting for it. Keetch barely hesitated and the pain flared up in her arm, tempting her to wail in a sob. Clove cracked a tear-filled eye open, watching as the seer gave her arm gentle squeezes and held the jar's rim against her wound. It surprised her, how much blood oozed from the cut.

She uttered a soft whimper at the sight of her blood filling the little jar. Surely she had already lost enough!

"It's alright, Clove," Keetch said soothingly. "It will be over soon."

"But Clove wants to stop this- forever," she sniffled. "Clove doesn't want to anymore."

"Then this is the last time," he said firmly. "But please, just give me just a little more. Do it for me... please." The way he spoke to her, _asking_ her for this, she couldn't help but to do as he said. She couldn't disappoint him after all he'd done. Every little shred of happiness or freedom in her life, she owed to him.

"Done." He placed the filled jar on the floor and pressed a fresh bandage on her bleeding wrist, wrapping it with care. "Clove," he whispered suddenly. "There is something important that I have to tell you and I'm afraid that this might be my last chance."

"Last... chance?"

He paused a moment before he answered her. "Remember what I said before... about leaving? I think I'm going to a place far, far away." She nodded her head, still blinking up at him.

"It's going to be very dangerous here and I think it's going to get worse," he explained. "I think I might have to run somewhere else, but I might just die there too."

"But where are Keetch and Clove going?" she asked. _Why does Keetch want to leave when Keetch just got here? Redwall was supposed to be safe. Doesn't Keetch like Redwall?_

Again he paused. "You want to come with me? Even if it's going to be dangerous? We could die, you know. _You_ could die."

"Clove doesn't mind. And Clove will do her best to protect Keetch. Brink told Clove that she almost ripped Brink's arm off. Called Clove a liddle shark. And..." The rabbit flashed a gap-toothed grin. "Being with Keetch makes Clove so happy." She stopped, waiting for his response to her argument, but he kept quiet, seeming to stare in space while Clove fidgeted uncomfortably.

"Um..." she murmured, attempting to break the silence. "The first time Clove saw Keetch, Clove felt... not happy... but, Clove wasn't scared of Keetch. Not scared like Clove was afraid of Old Master. And when Keetch took Clove to the Outside... Clove felt... really really really happy because Clove... never..." she stopped, realizing she couldn't describe anything right. "Keetch made Clove's life happy."

"I remember the first time I saw you," Keetch said softly, ruffling the fur between her ears. "You were so small and you always cried all in your lonesome. Nobody was there to talk to you or tell you there was somewhere better. You've grown."

"Yes," she said brightly. "Clove did grow up, didn't she?" The little rabbit stood straight in a proud stance.

"Yes you did, and I'm glad you've finally found a home. A place you can stay and be surrounded by friends for the rest of your life. Chances are, a family would be thrilled to adopt you."

"Adopt?"

"They'll take you into their family," he explained, getting back on his feet.

"Oh..." she frowned in contemplation. "Maybe. But Clove stays with Keetch. Keetch is very important to Clove."

"I know," he said softly. "And Clove? I want to tell you another secret. I used to be just like you." He paused as the Dibbun's eyes bulged.

"Keetch was a Clove too?"

"No. I mean," he faltered, trying to piece the words in his mind. "What I mean is, I used to be all alone too. I used to think that I would never find happiness. It took me a long time to find it, and I'm glad that I could give back what was stolen from you- a chance. It's the least I could give you. You were and always will be a good friend to me... far better than I deserved." And for some reason, the little rabbit couldn't help but bring her tears back up. She didn't know why she was crying. He was saying such nice things, after all.

"Why are you crying?" Keetch asked. "There's nothing to cry about." But he shouldn't have been the one talking. For some reason or another, he found his eyes moist as he blinked.

"Clove doesn't know," she admitted, dabbing at her own tears with her sleeve. "Clove feels... Clove thinks that... Clove doesn't know. Clove's just cryin'." And then the tears came down in an onslaught as she attempted to hold them back, sniffling and rubbing at her eyes. "W-why is Keetch talking s-so strange?" she hiccuped. "Why does Keetch talk so... sad?"

"Clove," he pat her on the shoulder, kneeling down to her level so she could see his sadness too. "It will be alright. Everything in Redwall will be alright. _You_ will be alright." But she didn't feel "alright." She felt sick, like there was something thick and strangling lodged in the back of her throat. She had known him for almost as long as she could remember. Clove couldn't imagine what her life would be like if he left her and never came back. He had taken her with him, and for that, she followed him. He had freed her and treated her gently. He had given her hope, and for that, she loved him with all her heart.

"But Clove wants to go with Keetch," she insisted. "Why does Keetch want to leave safe place?"

"It's something I have to do." He said that with a tone that made it final.

"Then Clove will come with Keetch," she replied firmly. "Clove will come and Clove will protect Keetch and Keetch will protect Clove. Travel together again. Just Keetch and Clove."

"Are you sure?"

"Clove always goes with Keetch!" she insisted.

"... Yes," he replied. "You can come with me and we'll leave tomorrow night. But you have to be quiet about the blood, understand? And wear long sleeves, too. If you let them now our secrets, they won't let me go. They will take you away from me and you'll never see me again. Do you want that?" he asked sternly. She shook her head furiously.

"Good. Then keep your promise, go to bed, wear long sleeves tomorrow, and we'll escape that night. Understood?"

"Yes Keetch," she said proudly, a smile shining through the tears.

"You're a good friend," he said gently, ruffling her headfur. "I don't think I could possibly ask for a better companion." The Dibbun's grin doubled at that last statement, making her tail twitch in excitement as she leaped about the room.

"Clove will pack lots of candies," she told him. "Clove will also bring lots and lots of cakes so Keetch and Clove can eat them all." And she went on and on about her plans, not noticing the half-frown frozen on the fox's face as he packed everything back into the wooden case.

Traveling down the passages weren't so scary anymore. In fact, Clove was grinning and holding her guardian's paw, skipping excitedly as she thought of being outside again. What kind of adventures would she have? Would he take her to the ocean to play on the beach? Would he teach her how to swim like Otters? How many new beasts was she going to see? What did the vermin look like? How big was the Salamandy Mountain? She wanted to see it all. She wanted Keetch to show it all to her and tell her everything!

Even as he gave her one final pat on the head and opened the door for her, she was smiling dreamily. And even when the little rabbit was snuggled between the sheets she couldn't help but toss and turn- the possibilities whirling in her head.

---

Keetch strode down Great Hall, chin slightly raised towards the figure between two blazing sconces. _I know you're watching me, you fake. Get out of that tapestry and talk to me honestly for at least once. _He stopped in front of Redwall's precious Champion, glaring up at the image. Of all beasts he had suspected of betrayal, he didn't think that Martin would be one of them.

"Keetch," a deep voice echoed. "What is on your mind?" The fox turned around, expecting the mouse standing before the stairs, all trussed up in his shining armor. To his shock, what stood before him was a habit-wearing mouse under a pear tree in some sunlit garden. Not only that, but he wasn't in Great Hall anymore. Rather, he was in the abbey gardens on a breezy summer day. But there was something wrong with the scenery. Not only were there no sounds of laughter or chit-chat or songbirds, but if he looked too far in the distance, he could only see a glaring white. It was as if he was in a dream of some sort, only he was sure he hadn't fallen asleep. No. Martin had brought him here.

"You know what's on my mind," the seer growled. "I read the omen from the bones." The warrior sighed and stepped closer to him, though Keetch backed away.

"I don't want you to leave the abbey, Keetch," Martin said calmly, his eyes weary with regret. "You can save the abbey. You have a lot of power and potential in you, do you know that? I know I didn't watch you when you were born, and I didn't even know of you when you were growing up, but the very minute you washed up on Mossflower I sensed you had a great amount of power that still remains to be untapped."

"So you don't care until your precious abbey is in danger," Keetch stated.

"It's not like that," Martin insisted.

"The abbey has a chance at winning," Keetch replied. "If I want to escape my fate at Redwall, then I'd best leave the abbey entirely. They told me that I must leave the abbey... and I trust the omens better than I trust you. They keep less secrets from me." And now, for once Martin seemed to struggle with himself, his eyes narrowing as he looked to the sky.

"I didn't mean to hide it from you," he said softly.

"The bones told me everything. You _knew_ I would die," Keetch growled. "You _knew_ that if I were to stay here to save your precious abbey I would die in the process, didn't you?" He grabbed the warrior by his habit and slammed him against the tree. "Didn't you?! I trusted you and did everything you said and you still want me to _die_?!"

Martin didn't do anything for a second, only staring listlessly up ahead. Keetch uttered a frustrated sound, raising a fist and punching the mouse in the face. "How could you?" he screamed again, punching him between breaths. "How dare you do this to me? I trusted you and tried to help but you didn't care that I was going to die, did you? You didn't even tell me! You didn't... you didn't..." His voice faltered, letting his paws drops so that Martin could slump to the ground.

Grack was wrong when she said that the spirits couldn't bleed. Now Keetch could see the truth with his very own eyes. For as much as Martin could have grabbed him by the throat and twisted his neck, he didn't even raise a paw to him. Instead of standing victorious, he was on all fours, blood pouring down from his battered mouth and nose. Seeing Martin like this, he should have felt some pity or horror at what he'd just done. But instead, he felt this fueling anger that pushed away all fears for the mouse.

"I... deserved that," Martin coughed.

"Why don't you just fight back?" Keetch kicked him in the stomach, winding him. "Stop playing the good little warrior and show what kind of sneaky conniving rat you truly are!"

Martin grunted, getting back on his knees. "Trust me, Keetch. If I could have both you and Redwall live..."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Keetch panted. "What was the point of me coming to the abbey and going down those caves if you expected them to ignore me anyways? What was the purpose of me risking my life?"

"That... those strange stones you got from the caves..." And now Martin was standing up, wiping the blood from his face. "Did you know that those were snake fangs? Asmodeus's fangs?"

"Snake...? Asmodeus?" The way that name slithered out of his mouth, Keetch had a bad feeling about it. There was something terrible about that array of bones- the way they smelled of death and decay and had a suffocating aura about them- like the place was covered in smoke that pressed at his lungs. And then there were those large burning eye sockets that stared back at him, the coiled mass of bones not bunched up in one pile. Rather, it coiled around and scattered about the space, giving it an air of omnipresence.

"A venomous enemy of ours and inherently evil," Martin continued, regaining his previous composure. "Those fangs are hollow and you can fill it with poison. Stabbing your enemy with it should theoretically inject it into your foe. However, take into account how fragile these weapons are."

"Well where am I going to get the poison?" Keetch scoffed. "And who am I going to use it on? In fact, what am _I_ ever going to use it for?"

"You were planned to give it to the beasts that would escape from Redwall to attack Greymorg."

"Attack... are you _mad_?"

"No. Even as we speak, there are forces working at bringing it down. It's weakened for now and it's just the perfect time to strike."

"You can't be..." Keetch shook his head. "Then who are going through the underground tunnels?"

"That's the point," the mouse replied stonily. "You ruined your own credibility by using my name in vain. Now nobeast is going to believe you when you talk about getting out of the abbey and traveling up North."

"Don't you point your claw at me," he snapped. "You stopped talking to me entirely! What was I supposed to do?"

"You had good intentions, I agree, _but_ I can't tell you everything all the time. I can help you, but I'm not all-powerful."

"This is ridiculous."

"I only have a limited amount of time to speak to anybeast. Especially when I'm looking out for other beasts besides yourself. It was easier when you were traveling. Nobeast was in danger quite yet."

"And now you're throwing more beasts in danger!" Keetch snarled.

"Just a few. If all goes well, we'll survive another generation."

"And just who are these few that you're sending to the North?" the vermin demanded.

"I was planning for a couple of them... Melo, Sarrow, Brink... and..." Martin paused to wipe some more blood off his nose while Keetch snorted.

"Isn't it already bad enough that you got _him_ in this mess in the first place?"

"It was not by my choice that he left his home. He did that on his own and now he's come to Redwall-"

"Because you led me here," Keetch muttered.

"... Yes." Martin frowned. "But enough of that. We are wasting time. What I need you to do is to go and tell everybeast about the underground passage and follow the sounds of water. I hope that at least a few brave warriors would accept the quest. And you, you need to stay-"

"No." The spirit narrowed his eyes at the mortal's defiance before continuing.

"You have to stay here. Whether or not the abbey stands a chance, you have to stay here."

"Why should I?"

"Because if you leave, there's a chance that the abbey will survive but it also has a chance that it would fall." Keetch opened his mouth to speak, squeezing his paw into a fist as he tried to find something to say.

"She'll miss you, you know. You're the dearest thing to Clove's heart."

"Keep her out of this," the fox growled.

"You never intended on bringing her, did you?" Martin pushed. "You are torn between where the omens tell you to go and what you think is best. The very fact that you're leaving her here, you know the abbey is safer, but you want to follow what the bones have told you." And then the warrior paused, noting the uncertainty in Keetch's countenance. He softened his voice to something more understanding. "She was so confused. Deep down, she suspects you're leaving her behind, and yet she trusts you. You knew that it was the last time y-"

"Be quiet! Whatever you're trying to do, it isn't working! I..." the fox's voice lowered as he tried to put everything together in words. No more prophecies. No more lies. Just the honest truth. "I don't mind dying for Redwall. In fact, I've always had the feeling I'd die sooner or later." And then his gaze sharpened. "But the fact that you didn't even trust that I would stay to help, now _that_ is the problem with everything." The mouse sighed wearily, turning away.

"I suppose I've misjudged you then..."

"Yes. And I'm leaving," Keetch said briskly, spinning on his heel. Where would he go in this strange dream world that Martin invented, he didn't know. He just knew he ought to leave the mouse as soon as possible. Just seeing the so-called warrior made him sick to the stomach. He trudged towards the abbey, passing the faded flowers and the lush lawns, noticing how everything seemed to be turning more and more grey with each and every step. Perhaps he was getting close to reality? It was strange, though, how Martin had given up so easily. Keetch turned around to see if his "guardian" was still there, but he saw nothing but a glassy lake and trees.

For some reason, he felt the need to seek the mouse out again- not to seek his council but to perhaps find an underst-

_Oh stop it,_ Keetch berated himself. He turned around, nearly jumping out of his fur as he recognized the mouse standing right in front of him.

"Oh," he sneered, regaining what was left of his composure. "You again. Thought I was finally done with you."

"I can't control what you do," Martin began. "But I want to tell- I mean, _ask_ that you stay and help Redwall."

"Sorry, mouse." Keetch pushed past him and toward the abbey's large oaken doors. "I don't take orders from you."

"But you could at least go with the group heading to Greymorg, can't you? Do it for Brink and Clove. They are the only friends and family you actually have."

The seer spun around, nose wrinkling. "If I stay and do as you ask, I die. If Brink goes out to do as you ask, he would probably die. Either way, somebeast dies."

"No!" Keetch startled, and before he knew it, he was flat on his back, Martin standing over him. The fox had been too bold, and for the first time in this encounter, he was terrified.

"I said it once and I'll say it again," the mouse instructed in a dangerously soft voice. "I understand your feelings about your death in Redwall. I truly do and I agree that it's not fair. But yet, it's not my paw that deals with fate." Martin sighed, his anger subsiding. "I... suppose I don't have the power to order you to fight to your death. It's a choice that's rightfully yours and it's not my place. But, if you could, would you at least speak for me? Tell the abbeybeasts that they need to go and find any forces they can find in the North. There are resistances out there that are growing in power. There is hope yet."

The whole time, Keetch lay still, afraid to even breathe. Was it possible that the dead could slay him? He was taught that ghosts and spirits were always able to curse the living and potentially drag them down to Hellgates, but this... could Martin physically kill him? Would Martin lock him out of reality forever, trapping him in this dream world forever as a punishment of sorts?

"Keetch." Martin's voice snapped him back to focus. "Will you do that for me?"

"Y-yes," he nodded ardently.

"Thank you," Martin breathed, his figure still blotting out the pale sun. "And forgive me... I have put you through so much and you still have much to suffer."


	51. The Roads Before Us

**So obviously I'm a stupid slacker... Sorry for not updating this. I am still in the Writer's Block Zone, but for the good news... Part I is complete, I'm making a Part II, and I'm already done with the next chapter, so I have no excuses for slacking off. You guys are pretty much guaranteed your first post. If I don't get it up by next weekend, you have the right to beat me with sticks! XP**

**So REMEMBER: PART I is done, PART II is next.  
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**Oh, and I'm just going to warn you about corniness here... sorry, but I really just wanted to get this chapter over REALLY REALLY bad because the next chapter is just made of pure AWESOME and I just wanna post it up ASAP! :D  
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**As for everyone's reaction to the whole Martin Thing, I'd just like to say that I wanted to break free of the trend where he's always right, knows everything, and he always gives everyone the happy ending. This Martin understands that there must be sacrifices for victory and while that does seem cold, I at least showed that he's conflicted about it. I gave this Martin flaws, making him seem more like a person. I'm sorry if I ticked any Martin Fans off, but I just felt that I had to do this. I really didn't like how Martin was like some God figure or something, you know? He was a mortal, so he should have mortal flaws and a personality.**

**Special thanks to all my reviewers: DGShadowChocolate, Siran 74, Namech Mortspear of Riftguard, ClashOfFire, Reader, Quavera Tava, MangaHottie740, Sanfrasm, DPCBLover, Foeseeker, Jarrtail, Shards-of-Airan, Zinachu, Veilbloodclaws, Fwirl of Redwall, and Shackle the Dragon.**

**Are you guys really sure you want me to make a Part II? I'm kinda hesitant... But if that's what you guys want. Any strong objections? **

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**The Roads Before Us**

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"What the hell do you mean?! So you're just goin' to run away? Just like that? Are you crazy or somethin'?"

Keetch knew that Brink was going to be hard-headed about this. They had just seen each other in the first time in two seasons, and now he was suddenly leaving at the thick of battle. The fox withheld a sigh. The otter wouldn't understand. He was just a simple beast with abnormal willpower and nothing more.

"Martin told me to send several beasts out on a quest," he began, placing the strange rock formations on the table. "He once led me to some caves at a quarry. I found these... 'adder fangs' in there and he told me that I'm supposed to give it to whoever goes out against Greymorg."

"Are you pulling my tail?" Brink asked, tapping at the corroding fangs. "S'whats all this stuff supposed to prove? That all your mumbo-jumbo about a passageway is correct? You are going to _die_ out there, Keetch."

_Well,_ the fox admitted mentally, recalling how everybeast turned their back to him when he explained. _Martin can't blame me now. I've done what he's asked and that's the best I could do._

"I'll be killed if I stay here," he told the otter. "Don't ask me why or how I know; I just know. I don't expect you to follow me and I understand why you don't want to. I've told everybeast else about my leaving and I don't expect to receive too many farewells. I want you to take care of yourself."

"But you aren't answering my questions, dammit!" Brink pounded the table, making the bones rattle. "Where are you going and what are you going to do? Second of all, if you think you're going somewhere safe, why aren't you taking Clove with you?" Keetch looked off to the side.

"Yeah, I thought so," the otter scowled. "I knew you were going to do something stupid all over again."

"I heard that Greymorg's getting some trouble from an army," Keetch answered. "I was supposed to tell some warriors to go North to fight while Greymorg was weakened but I... I made my own orders up and now I've ruined everything. For sure, I'll die here if I stay and if I go North, I'll probably die too. I'm trapped between two rocks." He shrugged his skinny shoulders as if there was truly nothing he could do to help the matter.

"What proof do you have for something crazy like that?" Brink demanded. "And what kind of army?"

"I don't know what kind of army and I don't have any proof either," he explained. "I just... know."

"It's that Martin again, isn't it?" Brink spat. "Don't give me that! Ever since you got yourself back here you keep sayin' things but keep all these secrets. You're telling everybeast what to do but not telling 'em what they need to know. Out with it!"

"I told you," his friend insisted. "Martin-"

"Yeah, yeah, I thought you'd say that," Brink sneered. "Go have fun gettin' yourself killed." And then he walked off, grabbing a javelin on the way. It wasn't exactly the kind of farewell Keetch had imagined, but he supposed he might as well just leave now. He had already tried to explain to a group of warriors, making sure that Skipper wasn't around first. He didn't expect any to listen, and he didn't blame them that they didn't.

So what now? He had made the biggest and stupidest mistakes at every possible turn and now Redwall was going to die. He had nowhere left to go now, and being that the vermin occupied every other direction, the North was all that was left to him. What could he do against the forces of Greymorg? He was just one beast and he wasn't any good at fighting. Maybe if everybeast was lucky, Greymorg's nemesis would wipe the Northern forces out. Either that, or everybeast dies- including Brink and Clove.

His tail was dragging on the ground as he traveled down, down, down. Utter failure weighed down in his shoulders as he walked on, face ducked behind the risen collars of his shirt.

_Poor Clove,_ he thought, putting a guiding paw on the dusty wall. _She had only just begun to live and now she's going to die. _He thought of her face then: a wide gap-toothed smile with eyes full of wonderment. He remembered the way she hugged him after he'd come back for her. The little rabbit truly had become stronger. She'd done something over a moon that he couldn't accomplish in two seasons. She'd grown from a hopeless little scrap to a hopeful and brave being. _She really is amazing. She traveled with me through thick and thin and never once did she complain. Of course she didn't have a choice to follow me but..._ The tears in his eyes were unfamiliar. He hadn't cried in a while.

She and Brink were all he had and all he ever truly cared about. Were they really going to die because of his mistakes? He had a chance to make things right again but he messed that up too. Down right in front of him was a dark tunnel with stale air. Was that really what he was going to retreat to? All alone?

---

_He can't have gotten far now. _Brink shouldered his pack, walking quickly towards the gaping hall that sprouted away from the main halls. It was so dreary and dark, perhaps it really was possible that there really was a hidden exit in there. For all he knew, the tunnel could've crawled all the way to the other side of Mossflower.

Brink narrowed his eyes at the challenge. If Keetch thought he could just run away from his problems all over again he has another thing coming for him. _The first thing I'm gonna do when I see his face is punch him._

"Brink?" He flinched, wincing before he turned around to face her. Jolin was standing right behind him, a large basket of bloody bandages in her arms and a pair of worried, tired eyes on her face. "What are you doing with that pack? Are you... really going to follow him?"

"I..."

The basket fell out of her paws and a few heads turned, but nobeast stopped. They all just walked around them.

"It just feels like something I have to do," Brink said hastily. "I-it's hard to explain, but I have a feeling about it. All my life I've been following that 'feeling' and it's been leading me to all sorts of places, but whatever happens everything works out just fine. It's just been nagging at me for a long time, my intuition... y'know?" He finished his explanation with a lame pause.

"B-but... how can you just leave like that?" Jolin asked, tears coming to her eyes. "You just decide to walk off without saying any good-byes or any sort of... _anything?!_"

"It's really just difficult to say right now..."

"And my uncle, Rosco, Mother Abbess, the entire holt? You're just going to run out on us all?"

Brink didn't know what to say. He clenched his fist, tighter and tighter. He tried to. He thought about it for a while. He had even waited at the doorway of the war room where the holt was, but he couldn't bring himself to even knock. And even now he couldn't think of anything else to say other than a simple "good-bye."

"I'm sorry," the otter said before finding a firmer voice. "But I'm _not_ running away. I'm going to find a way to fix things."

"So that's it, then," she asked, her accusing tone trying to hide her tears. "You feel like running away because Martin told you, too?"

"No. And I told you, it's not running away its... it's getting reinforcements." He closed his mouth, trying to think things through. "I just have a feeling that- um... it's complicated. See, there's no way that Keetch is a traitor, but the whole Martin thing is just crazy. I'm going to find out what he's up to. I'll bash those vermin heads in and find a way to end this war from the outside. I'll find help somewhere." He paused as she wiped her tears with a sleeve.

"Hey, I'll come back." He gave her a lop-sided smile that only seemed to make her cry more.

"And by the time you come back we'd have won the war ten times over, you idiot."

He sighed. "Tell the others that I said good-bye."

Jolin didn't say anything, just staring off to the side as he turned to leave. "Wait a second." She pulled a white, lacy cloth out of her apron pocket and stepped toward him.

"They say that Cornflower did this for Matthias during the Late Rose Summer War," she said as she tied it on his arm. "According to the legend, it helped him to know that he still had a piece of the abbey when he left to fight Asmodeus."

"Um, thanks," he muttered awkwardly. _This is why I try to avoid these sorts of things._

"If you have to go," the ottermaid said in a quiet voice, "then promise you'll come back. When it's dark out, I'll keep a light on the window so you could find your way home again."

"Yeah."

"Good luck out there," she said, giving him a sad smile. "Even though I don't know your reasoning, I wish you the best of luck and I hope you stay safe."

"I'll definitely come back in one piece." He held up his paw, giving her his usual roguish smile while she returned the favor and shook on it.

"Good-bye," Brink said as he turned away. "And thanks for everything."

"S-sure."

_A light shining through the windows, huh? Doesn't sound like a bad homecoming to me._ Brink took a deep breath and took his first step into the dark winding passageway. His steps were lonely, no other sound against the stairs to echo them. Jolin wasn't going to pursue the matter any further. There seemed to be an old splintered door hiding in the darkness in front of him, gilded with rusting metal and the knob black and heavy. _Don't look back._

He snatched a glance anyways. He saw one of his dearest friends all alone, standing forlornly on the lighted side of the doorway, a broken expression on her face.

_---_

No matter how hard Keetch tried, he couldn't get Clove's face out of his head. She was so tiny and frail. How would she survive without him? Every time he thought about the way she used to live, he felt a burning shame. He didn't put a paw in her fate, but he turned the other cheek. He ignored her suffering. He didn't even care enough to ask about who her parents were or where she was from or anything. And how did she repay his cruelty? With unfailing love and loyalty- something befitting of a soul that would rather love than be loved.

And holding the thoughts of their bond in a certain angle, he could see where he had grown to understand her. She was somewhat like him- a scrawny and weak figure locked up in hopeless darkness until a chance encounter changed everything. Just as the fox was all she had, Brink was the only thing he cared about as well. Even though the seer would be cross with her from time to time, she simply accepted it as his nature. And even if Brink did all sorts of insane things that nearly landed the both of them at Hell's Gates, he was a stupidly heroic creature- a little something Keetch admired. They were with him through his trials. Those two were his friends and they were all he needed.

_I will see them through this._

Keetch raised his chin, stepping down the stairs with an air of purpose. All his life he'd evaded responsibility. He'd worked for two seasons in isolated secrecy for this and it was not going to be wasted now. He was so determined, his cloak sweeping behind him as he held the lantern ahead, that he didn't realize the pawsteps clapping behind him.

"Hey Keetch."

"Huh- owch!" He rubbed the the side of his head where he'd been back-pawed.

"Thought you could lose me, huh?"

"Brink?"

"Of course it's me. Who else would follow ye down this way?"

"B-b-but I thought you said... you were supposed to..." Keetch scrambled his mind, slowly recovering from the shock. "But you're not supposed to be here! I'm supposed to come here myself!"

"Changed m'mind," he said gruffly. "Now what are you doing?"

"But what about the rest of them? No! Go back!" Keetch ordered.

"Not a chance. You think that you can just run away from your problems all over again, don'cha? Well not this time. I already packed and everything, so don't expect me t'just give up already."

Keetch was quiet, his ears twitching contemplatively. "So you believe me, then?"

"About wha'?" That alone told the fox the answer.

"About Martin," he said flatly.

"Nope. But you might have something there," Brink said, holding his lantern out and striding down the hall. "If there really is a passage out of here it could give us all sorts'a possibilities. We could smuggle supplies in or get beasts out or get reinforcements in or something."

"But if anybeast finds us," Keetch added, "it could give the vermin a way in."

"That too. Now c'mon. We have to find it before the enemy does- if this passage leads us anywhere at all."

"But wait a minute- STOP!" Brink froze in mid-step, turning around to see Keetch huffing as if that one second of shouting had sapped away at all his energy. "You can't come with me. You're supposed to go back to Redwall and help defend the place while I-"

"While you what?" his companion questioned. "Face it, Keetch. Ye can't do anything on your own."

"You're going to die out there," the fox explained. "Doesn't that matter?"

"Takes a lot to kill me," Brink scoffed, turning back around and down the steps.

"No you- idiot!" Keetch half-stumbled, half-ran down the steps, barring Brink's way. "Go back or you're destined to die."

"Destined?" the otter repeated, continuing down the steps. The fox nodded, eyes darting between the otter and the stairs as he slowly descended it backward, matching the otter's pace. As usual, Brink was being stubborn.

"Keetch, nothing is destined," Brink said, still continuing down the spiraling stairs that slowly became more and more disfigured with each and every step- forgotten, rotting pieces of the abbey. "It's nobeasts' destiny to do anything. I just choose to do things and other things happen 'cause of it."

"But you're making a mistake! I don't even know what I'm going to do when I ge-e-e-" Keetch stopped all of a sudden seeming to lean backward and circle his arms wildly before he dropped his lamp, filling the stairs with darkness before gravity took him. The fox curled up instinctively, everything black and spinning as pain pummeled at his sides and back before he skid onto the leveled ground.

"Ugh..."

"Keetch! Keetch! Hang in there!" A light bobbed in front of him, illuminating Brink's face. "You a'right?"

"I... think so." He groaned and slowly got upright, his muscles throbbing in protest.

"Easy there." The otter grabbed on to his arm and helped him up. "Lucky y'were near the bottom as it was." Keetch hissed in pain, not really feeling particularly fortunate at all.

"Just when my ribs weren't hurting as bad."

"No blood, I think," Brink observed. "And this is why ye can't do anythin' out there, Keetch. I thought ye'd die, but blow me rudder, I didn't think ye'd be defeated by stairs!"

"I... think I might need to sit down a moment." The fox didn't waste time getting a response before he sank to his knees. For some reason, he thought he was going to vomit.

"Everything alright? You hit yore head?"

"I'm fine," he sighed. "But just why did you come here? It was better if you just stayed at Redwall."

"Told ye. Can't let ye go runnin' off all by yoreself, now can I?" Keetch said nothing as he tried to stand upright again.

"Oh, and look. Now we only have one lamp, so we have to stick together. It's that Fate you've been talking about," Brink teased. For that, he got silence. _Huh. Not even a chuckle. _The otter cleared his throat.

"Y'know, if you're tryin' to punish yourself again for what happened two seasons ago, don't worry about it," Brink said simply. Even if the vermin didn't look the least bit interested, his ears were standing straight up. "It's all water under the bridge now. And besides... every time I look at you, you know what I notice the most?"

"What?"

"The little limp you sorta have whenever you try to walk fast. Whenever I see that, I remember how I charged the vermin blindly and how you got hurt for it. I wasn't the only one that got injured that day." Once again, Keetch was silent, probably deep in thought.

"So which way?" Brink asked, holding up the remaining lamp and waving it from side to side as if trying to ward off evil. It seemed ominous, the way the path forked into two separate stone tunnels. One could lead them to the salvation they sought, but the other could kill them.

"Martin just told me to follow the sound of water."

"Tch! That mouse again? And there's water everywhere! It's damp and moldy and- now what are you doin'? Making a splint?"

Keetch said nothing at first, taking a stick out from his medicine case and snapping the top a little so that it was bent. "It's from a hazel tree in the orchards," Keetch explained. "It can be used to make a dowsing rod." As if to elaborate, he held the L-shaped stick out so that it pointed between the two yawning entrances. "It's a tool that detects hidden water."

"A _dowsing _rod?" Brink sneered. "Are you outta your mind?"

"It'll work if I concentrate," Keetch said in a hushed tone, staring ahead intensely as the stick remained motionless. Suddenly, it tilted a little, shifting so that it pointed towards the left.

"It's that way," the seer said with confidence. "Even though it sounds crazy, just trust me on this."

"I say that you're crazy. If I follow your 'magic stick of wonders' we'd be dead for sure! We follow our instincts. I say right!"

"Wrong. I trust in my abilities and I'm certain there's water this way."

"Abilities?!" Brink sputtered, catching up to the fox. "What 'abilities' does it take to point a stick at somethin' and walk there? And how d'we even know that we need to find water? If Martin really wants us to find that, then he should just come out and say so himself."

"Quiet!" the seer hissed. "I need to concentrate."

"Concentrate? Oh I can't believe this." He reached out to grab the stick. "Gimme that."

"I know what I'm doing!" Keetch protested, pulling the dowsing rod away.

"Just gimme that hunk of junk!"

"No!"

"I said give it!" _Snap!_

Keetch had froze to the spot and Brink felt something in his paw. He lifted it, studying half of what used to be a dowsing rod.

"Oops."

_---_

"For the love of all that's good and pure, will your magic stick make up its mind already?"

This had to be the fifth place the tunnels had split off into all sorts of directions and Brink swore that they spent forever down there. He had no idea how long he was gone, but the way his stomach was rumbling, it felt like an entire week!

_If I knew he'd go this slow I'd have taken more time to pack provisions. They were supposed to at least last me three days out in the forest,_ he grumbled inwardly, glaring at the fox.

"GAAAAH! Just hurry up already! The third passage! The _third_!"

"Will you be quiet?" Keetch snapped. "I know that it's slow, but at least it's safe and we're still alive! I don't like it any better than you do... I almost had the answer, too."

"This is ridiculous," the otter seethed. "Just look at that pathetic thing! It's being held together by a bandage and the pointy end looks like it's gonna collapse!"

"Well you're the one who broke it!" the fox snapped. "This whole thing would go a lot faster if you didn't try to nab it!"

"But you wouldn't give it to me!"

"Because you would've thrown it away anyways."

"It was a stupid idea and-"

"I don't have time to argue with you. I have to concentrate." His companion only turned around and stared intently at the miserable stick, the pointing end practically dangling by a strand of bandage.

_I even wasted some bandage for this,_ Keetch thought darkly.

"Hey! Quit ignoring me, dammit! Just 'cause it was yore idea to go down to this hellhole doesn't mean you're suddenly in charge! HEY! I'm still talking!"

"I'm trying to concentrate!"

"All this for your crazy voo-doo stick!" the otter yelled, waving the lantern madly in the air with his wild gesticulations. "For the life of me, if all you foxes are superstitious dingbats..."

_Breathe. Breathe. _Keetch closed his eyes. _Take a deep breath. Ignore all outside noises. Stay calm and focus. Focus._

"Martin come save us," Brink said in an exaggeratedly high-pitched voice. "I think I need to make up some fake excuse to run, but I don't have any crazy ideas!"

_Ignore him. Ignore. Ignore. IGNOOOOOOORE! _Keetch strained to clear his mind._ Drown out the noise. Drown it out. Focus. Now relax... I'm the only one in the room. Brink's not here. I'm all there is here and I have all the time in the world. Where should I go? Where?_

He opened his eyes, looked down, and smiled. _The fifth passage._

"And once we find out nothing's over here, we're going to go right back to the abbey and I'm going t'give you a beating! 'Dowsing rod,' my ass!"

"It's this way," the fox said, pointing the way. It was a small entrance, a tiny little crawl-space with misshapen rocks thrown precariously all around. It looked almost as if it were going to cave in.

"In there?" Brink gulped. "Are you mad?! If it's a dead-end, we could get stuck! It doesn't look like we'd 'ave enough space t'turn around if that happens."

"It's in there. I'm sure of it. We'll just have to try." Keetch's voice carried twice the amount of confidence he felt, even though his palms were getting sweaty just by looking at it. "I'll lead the way."

"No." Brink shoved his way in front. "I'm going first. You'd just take forever." Scowling, he knelt down, hesitated, looked back at Keetch, peered into the darkness, and climbed in. It was a tight fit for his shoulders as he crawled through. The rocks were cold and slick to the touch, giving him the feeling that he was in the mouth of somebeast. He shook that childish image away. It was quiet except for the _drip-drip-dripp_ing of droplets.

"If you're wrong about this, Keetch..." he growled, putting the lantern down so he could rub his numb paws.

"I'm not." The voice sounded comfortingly close. The otter merely grunted a reply and carried on, his eyes studying every nook and cranny, calculating the width and distance of the tunnel up ahead. Was this what it was like to be an earthworm? To be practically blind and dig your way through dirt and darkness and have no idea if you were heading towards death? But dirt was soft- not wickedly sharp like these craggy rocks.

"Wait!"

Brink nearly jumped out of his fur, suppressing the urge to yell and scramble backwards. "What?" he whispered back.

"Do you hear water?" Keetch asked.

"Don't scare me like that," he sighed, slowly continuing on his silent, pain-staking way. Soon enough, he could hear it too. The grumbling sound of water churning up and spilling away. _So there really is water down here._

The narrow tunnel suddenly dipped downwards and slowly opened up. It now felt too late to turn back.

And then, further up still was the exit. It felt so good to finally be able to move without a jagged stone to jab at you punishingly.

"Here we are," Brink yelled above the water's roar. He held the lantern out in front of him, seeing how there was a river up ahead. The two questors stepped out gingerly, staring at the dark waters.

"So we found your water," the otter said. "What now?"

"I don't know." Keetch leaned forward to get a better look over his friend's shoulder.

"So... what then?" Brink demanded. The fox didn't answer this time, slowly surveying whatever he could in the dim lighting. Their tunnel was a part of the wall, and below them, a narrow sledge of slippery stone where the river's water lapped along the edges. They could walk on it, but it there was a chance they would loose their footing and fall into the terrifying torrent. But even if they could walk safely, which direction should they go in? Downstream or upstream?

"W-we could try walking," Keetch suggested.

"Nuh-uh. Not a chance."

"We have to try," was the vermin's firm response as he shoved his way past the otter, moving backwards to lower himself down. The rocks might as well have been layered with ice and the pebbles constantly slid from under his paw, but he was able to keep his balance soon enough.

"Careful," Brink cautioned as he lowered their provisions to him. At this point he sorely wished he'd knocked the fox out and dragged his bloody carcass back to Redwall. It was too late now. He could barely fit through the tunnel, so how was he supposed to pull an unconscious beast along?

"You're gonna die if you don't go back," Brink stated.

Keetch only shook his head. "I'll die if I go back."

"You're crazy." But despite the insult, Brink climbed down to join his companion at the bottom. He could barely see anything down here and the place was so vast- the river threatening to swallow everything up. "Ready to turn back now?"

The seer ignored him, trying his hardest to make a decision. He could just imagine them being washed away by the waters or getting lost in this labyrinth. What a terrible fate that would be.

_"Kicked outta Redwall again, eh?"_ a familiar voice sniggered.

"Who's there?" Keetch gasped.

"I'm right here," came Brink's impatient voice. Didn't he hear it?

_"Need help there?" _Keetch nodded uncertainly, his memory slowly piecing together the image of the mysterious spirit. Yes. He remembered the specter that appeared before him and led him to Grack's lair. He didn't think he'd ever see the six-clawed ferret again.

_"HEEEY!"_ The call almost made the fox's heart stop altogether. _"You blind?! Follow me upstream."_

"Upstream," Keetch repeated, stepping in the direction of the voice. "But I can barely see."

"Why upstream?" Brink protested past the water.

_"Ghosts aren't afraid of the dark," the ferret explained tersely, somehow not having to compete with the roaring waters. "Keep walking. I'd tell ya if you'd get anywhere dangerous- and will you tell that otter of yours to shut his whining?"_

The fox instantly obeyed orders. "Come on and stop whining," he yelled backwards hastily.

"I have every right to whine- and I'm _not_ whining!"

_"Move your miserable carcass!" _the voice hissed. But it was so hard to move fast here. It was cold and the freezing water constantly splattered against their bodies. The lamp light wasn't much help either. They could barely see ten paces ahead. Time seemed to drag on, both creatures with lowered ears, numb paws, and tense shoulders. What did it look like in the surface? Was the sun shining? Did the dawn pass? How warm was the sun again? _Maybe that ferret knows. He probably knows more about the world and my fate than I do. _His mind itched to ask the questions he had stored over the seasons, but he couldn't chance it. He had to focus on his footing. Plus, if he started yelling questions out of nowhere, what would Brink say? He might just turn around and stomp back up to Redwall.

"Once we prove you're wrong, we're going back!" Brink snarled behind him. As much as Keetch wanted to yell at him to be quiet or go home, he remembered the number of other loyal followers he had and trudged on. To be honest, Keetch didn't think that Brink would've come this far. The otter didn't know what was going on, so he couldn't blame him for being afraid. _He's still at my side because he's worried for my safety,_ he reminded himself gratefully.

_"We're here."_ Now instead of little spittles of icy water pinching his face, there were fat droplets stinging at it. Brink raised a lantern higher so they could see what exactly they were in front of.

It seemed as though water was magically gushing from a hole in the wall and into the river, but upon closer inspection they could see the little pocket of air resting on top of the water's tunnel. Brink reached up to touch it, his claws skimming the water testily.

"It's warm!" he exclaimed. "Warmer than this bloody cave."

_"Tell the genius that he's right,"_ the spirit sarcastically. Keetch couldn't see him anywhere. _"This is your way out. It's actually water from the River Moss."_

"But... but how did this water get down here?" the seer asked.

_"A hole is in the middle of the river's bed, water flows down into it, and it ends up here. There are some pawholds in there, so you could probably climb your way up to River Moss. If you want out, this is where ya go."_

But they could drown. Wasn't there at least an exit similar to that of the adder's cave?

_"Look, if you don't trust me that's fine," _the ferret sighed nonchalantly. _"I just had nothin' to do so I decided to waste my time here."_

"Is this the only way out?" Keetch asked.

"Wait-what?" Brink sputtered. "We're not going in there."

_"The only way. That's it."_

"We'll drown!" Keetch reasoned desperately.

_"You could," _he mused. _"You might. But you have an otter on your side there."_

"But I thought that Martin- I knew he would do this! He didn't want me to leave so he gave me this stupid obstacle!" the fox yelled, no longer caring what Brink thought. Why wasn't it Martin over here helping him? He lost all support just because he rebelled and decided to make his own decisions?

_"Martin! Hah!" _the ferret sneered. _"He just doesn't know what to do with ya. He's setting his sights on something else at the moment, so that's why I'm here right now."_

"What?" Keetch demanded.

_"You'll see," _the voice cackled. _"So up you go or you can just walk back and die."_

"No wait a minute you-"

"Keetch!" A paw clapped on top of the fox's shoulder, silencing him. "What in Hell's Gates are you yelling at?" Keetch took a deep breath, angry at both ghosts. He was one of Redwall's hopes and here they were, jerking him this way and that as if he were some dumb puppet.

"Nothing," he said calmly.

"Nothing?"

The vermin nodded, pointing up at the spout of water. "We need to go up that."

"WHAT?!"

"That's the way out," he said firmly.

"Are you out of yore mind?" Brink gaped. "Look at that thing! We'll drown!"

"We have to!" Keetch insisted. "You're an otter, so you can get us both up there."

"And where does it go? The Dark Forest?!"

"River Moss."

"How?"

"It just is, alright. It's a hole in the middle of the river that leads straight to this cave!"

"You're actually serious about gettin' us in _there_?!" Brink raved.

"Trust me!" And then the seer's voice calmed to something more understand. "Look, I know that you are scared and I am too, but we have to do this. I can't do it without your help so trust me on this decision."

"But it's suicide, dammit!"

"Brink! Listen to me. As crazy as things might've sounded, a part of you trusts in what I say, right?" The otter was silent at that. "You wouldn't follow me all the way down here if you thought I was completely insane. A part of you believes me when I say that Martin warned me about the attack. You don't believe that I'm actually one of the vermin, do you?"

"Of course not!"

"Then if you trust me so far on that, please try this. I know what I'm doing now."

"One of those things that Martin said?" he scoffed.

"Yes," the seer nodded. "That." They were quiet, watching the water pour forth from the tunnel and into the churning black river. How far up would they have to go?

"Fine," Brink said in a shaky voice. "But if you're wrong, we go back and I beat your ass. If you are wrong and we _die_, I go to the Dark Forest, beat your ass, and give that stupid mouse a punch."

"Fine by me." Despite the grim situation, Keetch couldn't help but smile at Brink's threat.

They prepared for the dangerous journey back, tethering all their belongings to their backs. But most important of their cargo was Keetch's medicine case. All those other things were essentials for survival, but they were easily replacable. His things, however, were carefully prepared and it would be difficult to make more. He had learned that the hard way when all he had were ruined herbs to heal his wounds. This time, he'd sealed all of them in jars for safer keeping.

"Remember that there are pawholds, so don't try to actually swim against it," Keetch said for the fifth time.

"Fine, fine. Let's get our deaths over with. Ready?" One of Brink's paws were clamped at the rim of the tunnel, the other reaching for him.

Keetch nodded, his throat swelling up and his insides turning into water. "Ready." After this, there would be no turning back. _Goodbye, Clove._

"Sure ye can't change your mind?"

"No." The fox latched his arms around the otter's shoulders and tied a rope around both their waists. If Keetch lost grip, at least there would be that to hold him there for a while._ If Brink loses his footing, we'll both die. Who knows how deep the dark river runs. Even if it isn't that bad, we'd be unable to climb back up on those slick rocks.  
_

Keetch breathed quick and deep, his eyes tight as he felt himself being hauled up towards the spout. Soon the water was rumbling next to his ear, causing vibrations to pummel in the sides of his head as the liquid rushed by.

"Hold your breath."

That was the last thing he did before the sounds became muffled and a powerful force battered his body. He held tighter to the otter, careful not to squeeze his neck. Panic seized his heart, and his mind screamed curses at him, berating him for making such a stupid mistake. _We're going to die. We're going to die. We're going to die._ There was that terrifying prospect of being thrown into the black waters below, and even worse, Keetch felt the impulse to simply let go.

_Calm! Calm down. Calm down... _he thought frantically to himself, but that would not work this time.

* * *

_Dammit._ The current was a little tougher than Brink thought, but he was made for swimming and battling the waters, so he might be able to make it. _Might_ was the key word there. But Keetch was the main issue. He was frail and unused to the waters, so how long would he last?

The otter stretched a paw forward blindly, almost instantly grabbing on to a rock. Even with the water battling against him, the tunnel was slanted at a gentle angle and the place was filled with pawholds. The climb was going quickly and more than once Brink felt hope flare in his heart. But every time something like that happened, his imagination would play tricks on him and he'd swear that Keetch let go.

_Don't let go. Whatever you do, don't let go._

Up, up, up, he climbed, his lungs finally feeling some strain. How long had he been down there? One minute? Two? Either way, he didn't think Keetch would last so long. Suddenly he felt his friend squeeze tighter, digging his claws into his shoulders out of panic. Keetch was now thrashing like a fish, struggling to for air that wasn't there. Brink hurried his speed, throwing away his initial caution. Then the horrible jerking movements came to a halt and it felt like Keetch's weight had melted off his back.

_Keetch! No! The rope-_

Clinging to the wall, he reached behind and felt Keetch's limp form floating with the current like a clump of seaweed. So it seemed that the rope had held them together after all. Not wasting any more time, Brink rushed up with a vengeance. There was no time to lose. If Keetch was unconscious, at least he wasn't dead. Just as long as he reached the top soon enough... But when? _WHEN?_

His lungs were shrinking with every second and he didn't yet know how much more he could take.

Up, up, up.

His claws felt numb and Keetch was so heavy...

Up, up, up.

His lungs weren't shrinking. They were shriveling. _I can do it. I have to. Hang in there, Keetch._

Up, up, up.

_Hang in there!_

Up, up, up.

It was so dark...

And then he reached up and felt nothing. Recovering from the suddenness of the routine, Brink reached higher, feeling flat, sandy ground somewhere below. Quickly, he planted his palms against the flat surface and wriggled free of the current pulling him in. He clawed his way across the riverbed, feeling Keetch's reassuring weight against his back.

Even from where he was, his fur still felt the pull of the tunnel. It made him wonder if this was the place where some otters and shrews went missing in the past. He shoved that horrifying thought out of his mind as he pushed off the bottom, kicking his limbs with all his might.

Up, up, up.

Up, up, up.

Light.

His head broke the surface and he practically roared as he took his first breath. It felt almost as if he were swallowing an entire gust of wind. Still panting and sputtering, he struggled to the riverbank, aware of his unconscious burden.

"Keetch! Keetch!" he half-yelled. There could be vermin about in the woods here. He slashed the rope holding them together and plopped his friend down so he was flat on his back. He didn't stir.

"C'mon Keetch!" Brink panicked. "I know ye ain't dead!" He slapped the fox's face a little, not quite sure if he was helping or not.

"I knew this was a bad idea! It was your idea! Don't die on me now! Don't!"

In all his life he'd never felt so hopeless. What was it that Skipper did when he fished that half-drowned cub out of the water? What did he do? If only he'd paid attention when he taught him!

"Keetch!" He pounded the fox on the chest. "Wake up! Wake up, dammit!" he yelled between punches. He didn't know why he was doing it, but he thought he vaguely recalled Skipper doing the same. There was some water dribbling out of Keetch's mouth if that helped any.

"Breathe! Just _breathe_!"

Suddenly the drenched fox convulsed in a fit of coughing, quickly getting up and kneeling over the ground as he retched and retched and retched.

"Keetch," the otter sighed, finally collapsing against a tree. "I though' I lost ye there, mate."

The seer just kept coughing and spewing water, shaking his head and gulping air whenever he could. "Are we dead?" he asked in a heavy, drunken-sounding voice.

"Nah." Brink shook his head. "We're alive. We made it... you were right."

"I was... right?" he echoed, not seeming to comprehend.

"We're alive," Brink whispered wearily, as if he himself found it impossible. He collapsed on the ground, his chest heaving. "We did it."

"So what now?"

"We can't get the rest of Redwall out," the otter said thoughtfully. "There would be no way for us to get down there to tell them- not without us gettin' killed and all. And even if we could, how would the elders and children get out? We've... we've got to get reinforcements for Redwall."

"From the North?"

"Well, if the South is all blocked off like you thought," Brink explained," it's the only way we can go. And from the looks of it, you're right. We're way North of Redwall now." At that, Keetch raised his head to look at the dawning horizon, noticing the rosy rooftops peeping over the treetops. Even in war, the abbey still looked peaceful and magnificent from afar.

"Here." Something clattered next to the fox's paw. "It's the sword Lord Rathor gave us, remember? After you ran, the holt found it and I kept it... y'know, for ol' time's sake. I hope you actually use it this time."

"Yeah." The sword looked almost brand-new, still not a scratch on it. Brink stood up, unsheathing his sword.

"Mine is a little worn out from training, but it works," he grinned. And then he turned around and made a swift sideways cutting motion, slashing deeply into a tree. "It's a mark," he explained, "so we remember where that tunnel is. I have to say... I always thought about leavin', but now that I can't go back, it bothers me."

Soon enough, Keetch rose to his feet, his knees still wobbling from their latest adventure. "I think we can win this thing," he said. "We've got Martin on our side and we've been through all sorts of things before." Perhaps the near-death experience had numbed his mind or maybe the ordeal emboldened him, but he felt more confident than usual.

"Yeah..."

"And we've got the weap..." Keetch's eyes grew wide. "Brink, did you bring those adder fangs with you?"

The otter stood rigid- a sure answer.

"Oh no..." There was no going back.

* * *

_"Sarrow. Sarrow, are you paying attention? Listen to me."_

_The young squirrel turned around, a heavy mist swirling around her and curling at her footpaws. She was stepping on soft grass and some light was peering through the abbey's impenetrable walls.  
_

_"Y-yes?" she stuttered, looking all about her. This had to be the oddest dream she'd had in a while. Everything seemed so beautiful here in the abbey's orchards, but she had a strange feeling about where she was. Even the fact that she knew this was a dream was bizarre._

_"Over here." She whirled around, coming face to face with the abbey's eternal champion himself._

_"Martin the Warrior!" she squeaked._

_"Yes. And I have grave news. Brink and Keetch have managed to leave the abbey but they've left something important behind- a pair of adder fangs. Find them and go to them now while you can still catch up to them."_

_"Who else should go with me?" Sarrow asked. "Who and how many?"_

_"Just you. There's no time to get everyone else. You need to find those two before they travel too deeply into the swamps. Now go pack and bring those fangs with you. Down the basement, into the cavern. A portal of water awaits you at the end. Go!"_

_

* * *

_

**Ending tacked on? Yeah, I figured. Sorry, but I'm just so lazy and I think my next chapter will compensate for that. :P Sorry guys, but blame my Writer's Block.**

**Also, I hope none of you crack a CPR joke. I'm really glad that Brink wasn't paying attention during Skipper's lesson about drowning kids, so we evaded that. *whew***

**But seriously, though, I would never EVER do that to either of them. Not after I have a little humorous segment about them fighting over a "stick." DX**

**So, please review and tell me what you think. If you think it was dumb and corny, I don't blame you. :( But if you say it was genius and awesome, I'm not going to argue with you. :)  
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	52. Setting the Pieces

**All right. I know that I was supposed to post a Part II but uh... I received a few PMs that asked me not to do it and I kind of gave in. I know that some of you are going to be upset with me for asking you and then not doing it anyways, but I just feel that maybe it would be best if the story is all in one place (and wouldn't it be cool if I reach the 1,000 count for reviews in one story?). OK, I know it's really selfish of me and I apologize. But hey, 80% of you said that you're ok either way. And anyways, the story will not be affected on whether or not I split. If any of you guys have any serious complaints, please let me know and maybe I'll do something. I don't know. I'm just such a push-over... **

**Anyways, thanks to all who have reviewed: Namech Mortspear of Riftguard (who has a long name, so I shall call him Morty), ClashofFire, Fwirl of Redwall, Jarrtail, Quavera Tava, DgShadowChocolate, Adder of the Pit, Iratora R., Shards-of-Airan, and Sanfrasm.**

**Thank you all. :)**

**Now enjoy the chapter... it has wolfies! :P**

**Oh yeah, and remember to read the chapter close.  
**

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**Setting the Pieces**

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They say that the winds carry the howling and screaming of war. Perhaps that was how the Sluthe Pack came to knowledge of the clashing forces. Or perhaps it was because the crows and ravens were so loud and gossipy, or that Boreal had told them. The white owl would know, as he had the neat habit of plucking unsuspecting guards from the top of Greymorg's ramparts. But how the wolves knew, it didn't matter.

They were wary at first, going about their daily lives with their ears pricked. Nymura had blessed their forage today and the wolves were happy about at least one good news in these dark times. There were fish caught from the rivers tonight- large, strong, healthy ones. It had been a while since they had feasted on a warm meal. The pack began pitching the tents for the night as they stoked up the campfires, their pups play-fighting and begging for stories.

"Tell us a story, Sari," they whined, gathering about. "Story! Story!"

"Oh," the elder groaned. "But we have walked so many leagues today..."

"Please?" they asked in unison. The gray wolf sighed, slowly sitting her aching bones down on a tent roll.

"Perhaps. After all, they say that a good story warms the bones and the soul," she told them, the corner of her mouth curving to a smile. "What story shall we hear of today? A short one?"

"Long one!"

"Bah! But we have so much work to do tonight." The pups whimpered their disappointment, but silenced themselves when Sari cleared her throat.

_"A long time ago..."_ The wolf's voice was deep and calming, a mysterious mesmerizing echo penetrating the air. _"...back to when the world was a newborn, there was no sun nor moon. But there were beasts there still, one of the most ancient ones being wolves."_ She noticed the way some of the pups puffed their chests out with pride. _"Now, we wolves were not always split into three. We were of one pack, led by a great wolf warrior called Taiga. He was a strong and noble Alpha. Thankful to Nymura, gracious to Estrel, and respectful to Gallo, the spirits had to hold him in high regard._

_"But... one winter's day, his mate wandered off to find firewood and a snowstorm came. Taiga-khan waited all day and night for Kayi, but she never returned home. Heart-broken, he left the pack to find his mate. If she was alive, he would carry her home. If she was dead, he had to find her body and give her burial, else her restless soul would wander the Earth. He traveled for moons, through ice and spring, through cold and heat, through water and forest- a leader turned lonely wanderer. And finally, he lay down exhausted on the icy snow, rest taking him before Oros came, his single red eye glowing." _The listeners gasped and whispered at that, tails wagging as their favorite part neared.

_"'What do you want?' Taiga asked the owl with a calm tone. Even though he had spoken to no beast for moons, he had not forgotten the courtesy he owed the spirits- especially the Harvester of the Fallen._

_'I have come for yooooooouuu,' the owl moaned, flexing his black talons into the snow. 'I have come for yooooouuu, just as I shall come for everything else.'_

_'Then can you tell me,' the wolf said, 'where my Kayi is?'_

_'She had come with me,' Oros replied, his voice void of feeling. 'But she had no burial rights, sooooo I left her at the Gate and she cannot pass...'_

_'Then I refuse to go,' the chieftain announced, fire blazing in his eyes. 'I will not leave her soul to wander. I will live and I will find her, even if that means I shall fight you.' The owl took flight at that, circling in the air before plunging down with his deadly talons. Taiga dodged, lips drawn back in a snarl as he slashed at his opponent with his knife. Oros suffered a small cut, but spirits heal themselves, so he was in no danger._

_'Yoooooouuu dare attack a spirit?' the Harvester rasped, the red line on his wing knitting to a close. 'A mortal attacking a spirit?'_

_'I do what I must,' Taiga explained, holding his weapon up._

_'You are a brave soul, Taiga. Nymura blessed you, Estrel wept for you, and even my stern master Gallo gives you his respect,' Oros drawled. 'But despite this, one must always die.'_

_'Then... then I shall die, but I refuse to go with you. Even if somebeast finds my bones and buries me and the Gates open wide, I will not leave Kayi. I will find my dearest so she will never be lonely. We will wander the lands... together.'_

_'Wolves are bold and loyal creatures,' Oros stated, nodding thoughtfully. Though, Taiga's words did not sway his mind. He lunged at the wolf as the hero dodged the sharp talons. Again and again, Oros tried again, though Taiga-khan always fought back with a vengeance. For two days and two nights they struggled and battled, energy never wavering on either side. Finally, after so long Oros realized that he could not waste time in his duties over one soul. Admitting defeat, he spread his wings so that they pointed to the clouds, and with a single thrust he was high in the sky, his single blood-red eye constantly looking for new souls to carry to the Gates._

_So it is 'til this day, that Taiga is once more an Alpha of a pack. Those who too have lost their loved ones will sometimes follow Taiga's path, looking for the missing bodies. But only the most determined souls shed their earthly forms and join him on his mission, joining his ever-growing pack to search for the missing. The pack is large and quick-footed, and they never stop. They say that on cold and terrible snowstorms, if one listens very carefully and holds the breath, a small cry could be heard. Sometimes it is the wind, but some say that it is a spirit calling out. Whether or not-"_

_AWOOOoooooo!_

They stopped, staring off at the direction the call came from. It was not like the friendly howls the returning patrol made. This one had no warmth.

"Get inside the tents, young ones," Sari told them. The whelps obeyed hastily while the warrior-to-bes put up a lasting fight. The old wolf could feel an ache in her joints. Whatever was happening, it was dark.

Elsewhere, the scouts were racing through the plains, mud splashed up to their knees and their tongues lolling out the corner of their mouths. They had reason to run, their lives and families being at stake. Already they had lost three of the pack to arrows, one they had to leave behind like some carrion.

The minute they saw the dots of campfire in the distance, they let out a ragged howl. As far away as they were, they could feel the energy of the pack stiffen and grow cold. Again, they lifted their noses to the stars, another throaty chorus filling their ears. There was another similar cry off in the distance. The Alpha.

---

"A _wolf?!_ Are you certain? Tell again- slowly- what happened." Although the leader was large, he was like a dull blade, already seasons out of his prime. The wolf stared down at his kneeling scouts as they regained their breath. Out of habit, Koun wanted to pace the floor, but his tent had restricted space. But while it was calm and quiet where he was, there was chaos outside as everybeast started dousing the fires and corralling the pups.

"Sluthe-khan," the oldest one addressed him in a formal tone. "Beasts are marching down. They have fire and shining armor..." Greymorg! It really shouldn't have been a surprise to him. The way they kept eating the land, he suspected that their demise would come sooner or later, whether or not they had made a "truce."

"...and they killed Bren and Rilter and..." The younger patroller let the short list whimper to a halt as he nursed a gash at his shoulder.

"Greymorg!" Koun spat. And to think they had a wolf _leading_ them. "How dare they... they must have taken Haien... or maybe Druid and made them lead the way."

"No." The scouts shook their heads with wide eyes.

"He was leading them proudly with his head and tail held high," the elder scout declared, fire alight in his eyes. "How could he? How could our honor fall so low that we would turn into traitors?"

"Enough," the leader said solemnly. As usual, they obeyed. He opened his mouth to question them more, to ask them the same questions over and over again. It would be no use, though. No matter how many times they restated what they saw, it would not change a thing. Greymorg was finally coming to finish what they had started generations before. The Alpha turned his back. "You two rest for the last battle ahead. Wolves do not lie down to be slaughtered." And with that, he swept out of the tent.

His mate was the first to greet him, her face set and worried and fierce and frightened all at the same time. Of course, she would be right to be so, since her entire pack was teeming with the scent of fear. The two-score warriors were all sharpening their weapons and donning what little armor they had while the mothers, elders, and pups were fleeing to the pine forest. Hopefully, the blood that the warriors were prepared to shed was enough of a sacrifice to buy the others enough time. It was gruesome, but it had to be done if this pack was ever to have a future.

"Sheeva," he told her, taking her paw and placing a knife handle in her palm. "It is Greymorg. I want you to go with the elders and pups."

"No," she hissed, suddenly angry at the very notion. "I am not a coward. I am not an elder or a mother- and not a pup either." He should have been worried, but he couldn't help but feel glad that she was willing to fight beside him.

"Very well." He knew he should argue against her decision, but he dropped the discussion anyways. There was more to think about at a time like this. He had to talk to this wolf leader. See if there was any way of forming another truce. It made him sick, having to beg for more time right in front of his pack. He remembered when he was a very young warrior. Even though already out of puphood, he was always slapped for dishonoring the dead, calling his ancestors cowards for bowing down to the weasels' demands with their tails between their legs. But that was so long ago when he didn't have the weight of the pack on his shoulders.

With his own paws he tore down his tent and rolled it up. Then, he took his spear in paw and howled a battlecry, his faithful warriors joining in. Even the pups did the same, tiny little sounds they were, but it added more to their chorus and bravery. It saddened him- it saddened everybeast- to know that it was the very last time to see their friends and family at peace. The mothers and pups were ahead of the line, the elders in the back. Even though the elders were honorable packbeasts, they chose their place in line. They had walked the path of life for a long time and they too refused to lie down to let their packbrethren be slaughtered.

Up ahead there was a cold ribbon of light.

"Here they come." Sheeva was suddenly at his side, a vengeful glimmer in her eyes as she brandished her bone-club. She licked her lips, lifting her silver muzzle proudly. "Death comes to us all." He nodded in silent agreement.

They waited, their hackles raised and their teeth going dry for baring them too long; and when the first silhouette of beasts was visible did the Alpha pair begin the march toward the enemy. Spears raised, arrows nocked, swords drawn, neither aside attacked. As much as a bloody death struck a chord of honor in his mind, Koun was more or less relieved that this was starting out as a truce of sorts. Greymorg didn't send them a full army, but the wolves were still outnumbered three to one.

He flattened his ears as he trudged on, his mate beside him, his warriors behind him, and the spirits watching him as he headed towards the torch-bearing vermin and their despicable leader. And speaking of which...

It was a wolf, just as his scouts had told him. But the identity of the beast, it was as if staring at a ghost from the icy dead. The rest of the warriors kept their grim silence, but he knew what was going through their minds.

"Fenris," Sheeva growled, gripping her club as if attempting to shatter it. "I knew he wasn't dead." She was scared. Every one of the packmates were. With every step on the muddied grass, Koun wanted to run. He told himself he wasn't afraid of war, but never did he have to fight a serious battle. These odds before him were just too great. But oddly, among the numbers there were prisoners as well. They too were of the same species, rats and weasels and foxes and the like, but they weren't in armor. Rather, they were in chains and in ragged clothes, blood and puss dripping out from their wounds. They also carried a different scent than the others- a fouler, saltier scent. Were these the remnants of one of Greymorg's battles? What were they for?

Koun didn't have any idea why, but he felt something ominous prick up his spine. There was some bigger part of this attack than to simply kill. The bedraggled group of prisoners made it obvious enough.

They stopped quite far from the opposing troops, weapons at the ready. Silence. And then...

"Koun-khan, Sheeva-khar," Fenris began in an almost polite kind of way, though Koun could here the faint sarcasm. "It is good to see that you are well."

"What do you want?" Sheeva snapped back. "We upheld our agreement to stay out of Greymorg territory, so you have no right to come here with weapons."

"We are here to kill you," Fenris stated plainly, his countenance as unsettlingly stone-faced as ever. The pack had expected death, but the fact that they were to die at the paws of a brother...

"Once a traitor, always a traitor," Sheeva snarled, the warriors behind her echoing the sound. "Did you get Haien too? How fitting, that a murderer would finish his own pack off." Again, not a whisker twitched on Fenris's face. He didn't even answer the question.

"The pups and elders?" he asked.

"Have you no honor?" Koun rumbled, gold eyes shining. "Is it not bad enough that you attack your brother pack, but you also want to destroy the helpless? Do you not feel guilt for turning on your own pack seasons before? Do you not want to start over and regain what little honor you can?"

"Honor is nothing if you are weak."

_Crunch!_

It sounded like a pawstep, but out of the corner of his eyes he saw a pack member fall with an arrow in the throat. The end was here. Sheeva howled first and charged at the army, club raised to crush skulls. Koun followed after her, ducking his head and running in a zig-zagging pattern as he charged up at the howling Fenris.

"Leave them!" the traitor barked, some heat finally rising from his voice. "The Alphas are mine!" By then Sheeva was upon him, smashing downwards with her club. He twisted out of the way, an arc of silver completing the spin as Sheeva staggered backwards, barely missing a sword's point. Fenris paused, the twin broadswords flashing in moonlight. Roaring in rage, she sidestepped and lunged forward, stepping into her swing with brute force as he readied one sword to block and the other to kill. More than once Koun felt the urge to throw his spear, but that would be disastrous. If he missed, he would have lost his only weapon. He let a blood-curdling howl rip through his throat as he charged up to his foe.

"Traitor!" There was a clash of wood on metal and Koun felt the jarring energy travel up his arm as his opponent blocked the spear. He grunted and shook the pain off, leaping backwards. "Your swords reek of blood."

He and Sheeva circled the wolf. Koun knew he should've been focusing on Fenris, but his eyes constantly strayed to his brethren. The vermin were making quick work of them. They were falling, their lifeblood pouring out and their innards slicking the ground.

They had never had any real experience in battle. They had training, but they'd never learned to spill blood. In fact, nobody in the pack did.

"Koun!"

He shut his eyes and parried the blow with his spear, spinning to the side as he swiped his weapon at his opponent, slashing his arm. But Fenris was ready for that.

Every weapon has its weaknesses. For the crossbow, it carries a powerful blow but time is wasted reloading it. For the arrow, the shot is long but the weapon is only useful as long as there are arrows. Swords are sturdy and deadly, but they are also heavy. Now spears, they are useful both in close and long range, but with one sweep of the spear the entire body is left exposed.

Koun would realize his mistake only after a sword had stabbed right through his side.

"KOOOOUUUN!" Sheeva's voice sounded so far away. His vision flickered and he saw his mate jump in the air, her club connecting with a sword in mid-jump. She landed gracefully, springing forward with a dangerous sideswing. He saw Fenris sweep backwards easily, paws digging into the soil before he sprang upon the Sheeva. Koun groaned as he clamped a paw around his wound as if the flesh would meld if pressed back together. His vision filtered black for a moment, and the next thing he saw was his mate falling backwards with one of the twin swords flicking splashes of blood into the air.

"Sheeva!" His legs were paralyzed with fear, as if he were wading in freezing water. He could only stare in horror as Fenris advanced calmly, a sword raised at her her kneeling form. She glared at him, trying to recover from the shock when he stabbed his blade forward. Sheeva gave in to her instincts, holding her paw in front of her vitals.

"AAaaaagh!" she screamed, writhing in pain as the sword point spliced its way from her palm to the tip of her shoulder. _RIIP!_ The blade tore out of her skin, splattering blood and tendrils of flesh onto the ground before it sliced her throat.

"NO!" Koun grabbed for his spear and lunged forward, ignoring the pain and the howls all around him. There were no more frozen faces in the background, nor were there bodies gathered along the grass like wildflowers. There was just him, Sheeva's still form, and the grinning wolf in front of him. There was a wild look in Fenris's eyes now, blood dripping down from the corner of his maw.

The Alpha screamed, jabbing his spear this way and that, slapping the stave sideways to parry one blow from the enemy. He ducked the other sword as it spliced the air horizontally. Koun took his chance, letting go of the spear as he stooped low and stepped in, punching Fenris straight in the gut. He felt hard muscles against his wrist as the younger wolf doubled over.

_And another_. He brought his knee up, crashing the other wolf's nose. Fenris staggered back, recovering from the shock before he breathed blood from his muzzle. Koun took this chance to reclaim his weapon and charge forward for the finishing blow. His heart was pumping in his ears and there was a dull ache where his wound was, but he didn't care. If he could at least cripple his opponent he would die a happy beast.

"Weak!" Fenris shouted with a snap of his jaws. And then he too charged with full force, blood trickling down at his blade tip. There was a mighty roar from both beasts as their weapons met. Koun, surged forward with all his might, not caring about defense or the fact that a sword had suddenly struck the bone in his right arm. He closed one eye, aiming his spear straight for the enemy's throat.

But something went wrong.

While the first sword was lodged his arm, the other sword was under the spear, knocking it off course and upwards. But the thrust still met with flesh and he heard Fenris give a cry as his head jerked sideways. That was the last thing the Sluthe leader saw before his head fell from between his shoulders.

---

There was a hushed silence in the atmosphere as some lonely figures picked out the remains of battle- no, _massacre._ Bodies of wolves and vermin alike littered the ground, the seasonal flies gathered about at the mouths and wounds, eating out of the rotting eye sockets. Even the grass seemed dead, suffocating after drinking on that rain of blood. Carefully, the small group of wolves covered their muzzles as they picked out the Sluthes and gently carried them to their own pile. They deserved to be buried with the honors of warriors while the rest of the carcasses could burn.

"Horrible..." Kokota choked out, staring up at where a stake was stabbed to the ground, two wolf heads stacked at its point. The faces were bloody and beaten beyond recognition, but he could imagine the Alphas' likeness in those mashed features. He fought back the urge to vomit. This wasn't his pack, but they were wolves just like he was. They were packbrothers and sisters, each and every one of them.

This destruction... it was just as Boreal had said. At first the Haien pack was wary of the owl's words, believing that it was just a ruse to draw the numbers out so that he could swoop down and snatch a pup. But for some reason, Kokota heard truth in the white bird's words and brought a small group with him to scout ahead.

"Death and ruin and horror are just South of here," the owl had told them.

He picked up a sad remnant of a burnt tent, feeling all sick and cold inside. At first he thought that it was Greymorg's forces. The wolves had always expected an attack, but... the beasts strewed on the ground did not wear the same battle armor. They wore simple rags and their paws were hardened and calloused. There was no telling how to scent them either, as the air was full of smoke and ashes.

"And you didn't believe me?" a sonorous voice asked above. The wolf looked up to see Boreal wheeling about the sky, seeming almost proud of himself. Kokota let a growl escape from his lips. There was a very tenuous truce between the wolves and the owl, and if the bird was on the ground right in front of him, he would have gladly broken that "peace."

"Do you know who did it?" he asked.

"It's not Greymorg," the bird hooted. "It looks more like the enemies that came on ships. They wear rags as well and have a gnarled ugly look about them. Eye patches and tattoos." The description certainly fit.

"But why them? Why do they want to kill us?" the young wolf asked helplessly. "We did nothing to them!"

"They might have assumed that you were a threat. Maybe even Greymorg's ally."

"They could not possibly be more wrong!" Kokota shouted up, anger boiling up inside him. How could they have fallen so far? How could the Wolf's Way crumble like this? The stories the Elders used to tell, his kind used to be so proud and strong and now they could all be picked off like this...

There was a sad howl somewhere in the distance. Kokota stood, ears standing straight up as he tried to pin-point the sound. There was no wind and the howl seemed to echo everywhere. The ghostly call came again, and this time he could tell it came from the pine forest up ahead. _They found them..._

The forest was quite a way off, but not too far. It was usually safe, thick with trunks and soft needles and slopes. But there was the unmistakable scent of blood drenching the place. Every step was a difficulty for the young wolf, trying to swallow down his bile as he wandered deeper and deeper into the unknown. The howl wasn't triumphant. It was a lonely, heart-breaking sound and he hoped that it meant that some died. _Only some... please._

He didn't have to wander too far into the thickening forest before he saw it. There were elders and mothers and enemies alike decorating the ground, their eyes wide in fright and their snouts agape in a frozen snarl. The wolves were numerous and it seemed that they didn't even have a chance to hide at all. _They were brave in the end. May Estrel carry them into the light and guide them on their journey, _he prayed. _But... where are the little ones? Where are the pups?_ There was not a single small body in sight. If there were any pups around, they were the unborn, dragged out of their mothers' stomachs and hacked to pieces. Whoever was here, they were terrible and had no scrap of honor to speak of. Even Gallo would not have to think twice before sending their souls to the deepest, darkest depths of the Underworld.

He stood still as a statue, staring at all his poor, wretched brethren. There was some rustling somewhere beyond the trees, but his nose told him it was the rest of the group. It was difficult to tell with all the smell of blood and carrion, but he was sure.

"Kokota?" That was his mate's voice. He turned to see her tears and solemn face. "I need you to come see this." He followed her, not knowing what to expect. _Perhaps they had found some pups at least? Maybe? Just a few innocent ones left?_

He followed her, passing by wolves that mirrored Frey's serious and tragic face; some were even vomiting on the bushes. Whatever it was, it had to be bad. There wasn't even any wailing or whimpering of cubs. _Perhaps the enemies took them? Perhaps they took them as slaves. We would save them. We would explain everything to the enemies. We would barter the pups back with everything we have._

_Drip._

He rubbed the liquid off his nose and would have dismissed it for rain had he not seen the smear of red on his claw. He stared at it for a moment, his eyes growing large as Frey stared at him. Then he jerked his head up.

Horror was what he saw. Horror and mercilessness... innocent children cut down by ruthless and evil power. He stared up the tree, piecing everything together. The pups had tied a rope to an arrow and used it to clamber up the tree- the warrior-to-bes and the tiny little whelps alike. He imagined the youngest ones crying and whimpering as the older ones shushed them gently. They must've heard their parents and elders snarling and screaming while being slaughtered somewhere in the distance. Some poor little child must have howled for its parents...

How painful it must've been, to have crossbows fired upon them, nailing them to the trunk. Some deaths were quick, going right through the head or throat. Others were struck through multiples places- the ears, tail, legs, arms, stomach. They must've writhed and cried and screamed for mercy with their last breath. And the ones who were somewhere higher must've watched with terror and hopelessness, knowing that they too would be next and were powerless to stop this cold-blooded massacre.

"No..." he croaked, turning to his friends, helpless looks on everybeasts' faces. "No... even the pups? Was nobeast spared? Not even... not even the pups?" A whole pack- a whole group full of history that stretched back to the dawn of the land- weakened over time and snuffed out like this? They were once the most powerful a long time ago. What happened? What went wrong?

There was a squawk of alarm above, but everybeast knew it was the owl. He too, crass as he was, was alarmed and sickened at the sight.

"Vermin," he said with a clack of his beak. He suddenly snapped his head up, swiveling it as it blinked at the boughs. He swooped off and hopped onto a branch, twisting its head this way and that as it inspected something.

"What is it?" a wolf called up. The owl didn't reply. He just moved this way and that, the pine needles obscuring the wolves' vision. Finally, Boreal hopped sideways, carefully holding something in his talons as he fluttered down. The wolves clustered about the bird, hearing a soft, piteous whimper from the bundle dangling from the owl's claws.

"Scrawny, bloody pup," he said solemnly, laying the poor beast out on the soil. It whimpered again, curling up as blood trickled out of it.

"Oh..." Frey knelt down to offer it water, only to see that its side was gashed open, some bones were broken, and an arm was crumpled and crooked like a tree branch- twisted in the most unnatural way.

"I don't think she'll make it," she announced with a cracked voice, holding the tiny paw in her own. The little one groaned weakly, as if agreeing to that statement.

"We should just put it out of its suffering," another wolf suggested somberly.

"No," Kokota replied tersely, shaking his head. "We can't let her die like this. We can't. She'll make it. She has to." _She? Was it even a she? The whelp's eyes were swollen shut and blood matted its fur. _He couldn't tell.

"But she's _suffering,_" another wolf stressed. "She's in pain. There's nothing we can do for her now except to be swift and send her to Estrel-"

"NO!" he shouted, instantly regretting his volume as the child squealed and jerked its ruined limbs. "No," he whispered, gently stroking her bloodied headfur. "We can't kill her. I don't have the heart..." He cradled the whelp's head in his lap as he poured water into her mouth. There was barely a response. Her tongue lapped sluggishly at the water, liquid trickling out the corner of her lips.

"Three hours." Kokota glared up at the cold-hearted bird. "Three hours before it dies."

But the cub did survive longer than that. Much longer that, Kokota thought she might make it after all. Miserable and crippled she might be, but she would be able to breathe the air. She would play with the other pups of his pack, learn how to fish, she would find a mate and have cubs. She could do all those things. That was what he was thinking as he carried her into the healer's tent.

But it wasn't meant to be...

"I don't understand," he said softly, kneeling beside the frail figure. "Her conditions didn't seem to get worse... why? She's so small."

"It's the way of the world," Renn replied gently. "You did all you could do, Kokota. The spirits would care for a gentle soul like hers. Oros would carry her, Gallo would judge her well, and Estrel would take her to the Everlasting Fields."

"But all the... all the cubs and elders..." he sobbed, pressing his palms against his eyes as he shook his head.

"A great evil has been done in these lands," the healer sighed.

"M... mother?" the whelp squeaked. Tears and sweat were drenching her sleeping mat as she stirred. Her chest heaved from the effort and her face pinched in agony. "It hurts..." she whispered. And then she began panicking, her whimpers becoming a half-hearted wail. "It hurts it hurts it hurts! It huuuuuurts! Mother!" Her claws raised slightly, seeking the paws that raised her since birth- paws that would never find its way back to her again.

"Be still, be still!" Renn ordered hastily, trying to ease the child into comfort as she pressed a warm cloth to her forehead. In an instant, the the little one stopped; her cries ceased and so did her breathing.

"The pain was just too much to bear for her tiny heart," the healer said in a cracked voice, slouching resignedly as she pulled the blanket over the little one. "May you pass through the Gates so that Gallo shall judge you, and shall Estrel give you light," she prayed.

"I'm sorry," Kokota whispered, hanging his head. "I'm so sorry."

"It's no fault of yours. You did what you could. If anything, it's those foreign beasts that came on boats."

He was still for a moment, doing nothing but shaking his head hopelessly.

"They won't get away with this," Kokota snarled to nobeast in particular. "They won't get away with this. We'll gather with the Druids. Once they hear of this, we'll all go to war. We will. Those... those beasts... whoever they are... they will pay. Those demons will all pay and face a horrible death. Greymorg and those shipbeasts and everybeast who stands in our way!"

---

"This is a bore," the king complained, leaning back in his seat as he ripped away at the roasted bird.

"Quiet," Thanatos warned, rubbing his brow as he moved the tiny figurines across his map. Nyara's forces were stronger than he thought, and they were quite resourceful too. They made quick attacks, honing their powers on their weakest gates before retreating. It confused him, how they seemed to know the weakest points when they attacked. Spies... he had sent his own trusted beasts to track down any suspicious beasts.

"So how's the war going?" Ragnar mused out loud.

"I said be quiet!" The prince slammed his paw against the table, the pieces shuddering as he did so. This was a private war meeting between he and his most trusted advisers- Sigma and Dagmor. Fenris would have been sitting next to him, but the wolf was out running a mission. And as for King Ragnar's presence- it was not like his elder brother brought any help to the table. The Basilisk was still stuck in the chambers growing fat and useless, gorging itself on his slaves as the corsairs battered at the wall.

"You are putting our troops in the wrong places," somebeast interjected. Thanatos shot a glare at Dagmor. Although high-ranked, the stoat was still below the Prince's command and he would do well to respect that. "Your next offensive shouldn't put them under line of fire. Don't you remember the last offensive when they retreated to the safety of their ships, retreated out to sea and shot us from there? That battle was a catastrophe." Dagmor began sweeping the pieces off the table before the general clamped a paw on the stoat's arm.

"I know what I'm doing," the weasel seethed. And then he let go, glowering as his old mentor raised a paw.

_Test me. Go ahead,_ Thanatos warned mentally.

"Oh look!" Ragnar chimed. "Finally some action!"

Dagmor raised his paw slowly, foreclaw pressed behind his thumb as he lowered his arm onto the table. Thanatos clenched his jaws so tight, he thought his teeth would shatter.

_Just go any closer..._

_Plink._

The stoat had flicked the piece off the table. Thanatos stood from his seat. "Do you want to try my patience again?!"

"My general," said a silken voice. Sigma was sitting at a separate table with a circular symbol in the center, trinkets and bones scattered about it. Her useless apprentice was with her, a vacant look in his face. Thanatos had high doubts that the expression was a result of a trance.

"I believe that there are greater works at play here," his seer continued. "The omens have told me that High-Captain Fenris was successful. The plan Lady Reun devised... it was very cunning, indeed." He felt his frown deepen at the mention of her name. Useful as she was to his efforts, Reun had refused to come anywhere near that treacherous king, and for that, Thanatos found that he could talk to her less and less. Ragnar was instrumental in this war, after all; and this conflict was more even than he expected, especially when a large sum of his army was out capturing Redwall. Reun had urged him to send a raven with a message, but he had refused. To draw his army back, that would make him lose all of Mossflower. Their dreams of expansion would be ruined.

_Knock-knock_

"WHAT?!" Thanatos barked. He guessed that the creature behind the door was cringing.

"My lords and ladies," a voice addressed them humbly, "High-Captain Fenris has entered through the North Gates and request your audience." Thanatos breathed a sigh of relief. If Sigma's visions were right, Fenris carried good news with him. Fortunately, he didn't have to wait too long to hear it, as the wolf strode into the room in less than ten minutes. Thanatos had to admit, it seemed that the Sluthe Pack gave quite a fight. There were cuts and bruises all over the wolf's arms and legs, his mouth still had blood stains on it, and most of all was the fact that there was a white strip of bandage wrapped about his neck- a blob of red marking his injury.

"Enjoy slaughtering your old friends?" Ragnar sneered.

"Very." The wolf said, his face stoic as if he felt no pain. Thanatos had to wonder if his face even moved during the battle.

"So did you do everything, then?" Dagmor asked, beating the prince to his line.

"Yes," Fenris answered.

"Kill them all?" Thanatos asked _his_ High-Captain, making sure that the stoat knew who held the reins.

"Yes."

"Left none alive?"

"Absolutely none."

"Burnt the entire place?"

"Yes."

"Killed our prisoners?"

"Yes."

"Threw the prisoners and their weapons all around the field?"

"Yes."

"Do you think the other packs will bite the bait?"

"Almost certain. The smoke ruins their sense of smell. Since we left the bodies and weapons of the corsairs littered on the battlefield and took out all evidence of our presence, the packs will believe what they see. They sometimes let their senses run their logic."

"And will they take action?"

"If they do, then they will be at least hinder the lynx's forces. If they don't... they're cowards and they would be easy to dispatch in the future anyways," the wolf reported. Thanatos nodded, a smile on his lips.

"So you left no survivors?!" The dismay was evident in the king's tone. " You didn't even spare the smallest mongrel? No slaves? I was hoping that I could keep a pet wolf as well." And then he sighed and leaned back, a perplexed look on his face. "Oh well... I thought they'd be interesting but I could get another later..."

"His orders was to leave none alive," Thanatos interjected.

"What for?"

"It makes them angry and therefore, it makes them stupid," Dagmor explained coolly, giving Thanatos a meaningful look.

"Was it difficult?" Sigma asked the wolf. "You do have quite a few wounds."

"Nothing I haven't dealt with before," Fenris rumbled.

"But... that wound on your neck," the vixen pointed out. "It seems to be quite serious."

"It's nothing," he repeated. "I finished my mission and the Sluthe were all wiped out. If anything, the other packs should turn and growl at the corsairs. All evidence points to them."

"Mm-hm!" Ragnar hummed, grinning at the sheer ironic brilliance of the plan. "The bait has been taken and the pieces are set."

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**Yeah... I know I destroyed an entire sub-culture right there and I'm evil for it. At first I wanted at least one little guy to live, but it just doesn't get into the spirit of massacre, you know? Oh, and if anyone wants to blame someone, blame Adder. She told me to do whatever. :P**

**Nah. Just kidding! XD She was pretty much begging for that cub's life but I would not hear of it. **

**So, please review and all that good stuff. I'd like to know what you think of the wolfies, please. :)  
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	53. Heroic

**OK, here's the next chapter. Special thanks to all who reviewed: Adder of the Pit, Siran 774, Fwirl of Redwall, DgShadowChocolate, DarthCraftus, Quavera Tava, Sanfrasm, Icefox425, Jarrtail, Shards-of-Airan, SgtHolton, ClashofFire, and Red Squirrel Writer.**

**There is violence and fighting in this chapter. People with weak stomachs, *cough*Airan*cough* please beware. :P  
**

**Warning: I am about to enter the Realm of College, so expect delays, since school should be the priority of my life instead of internet stuffs.**

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**Heroic (because I still suck at naming things :P)**

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_The meadow was alight under the full moon as the white blossoms swayed in the breeze. The stars were ablaze, shining beautifully against the cloudless dark-blue sky while the little orbs of fireflies flashed in the air. She had never seen anything so beautifully perfect.  
_

_"Look Keetch!" Clove squealed with delight. "The firebugs are so pretty!" She dashed off, the long grass tickling her ankles as she flailed her arms over her head, spinning in circles as she giggled._

_"Keetch! Look at Clove! Look at what Clove can do!" She whooped and flopped on her back, laughing as flower petals fluttered against her face. Clove stared up at the sky, watching as the fireflies danced just above her, the stars shining just behind them and out of her reach. Still enjoying the cooling grass, she got up and dusted the grass bits from her dress before chasing after the insects, her arms reaching upwards and cupping around the glowing speck._

_"Look Keetch! Clove caught another firebug!" she shouted, turning back to where she came from. Her guardian was sitting against a tree stump, staring contemplatively ahead as he always did. _

_"Look Keetch!" She parted her fingers slightly so that he could see the flash of light. "Clove caught more firebugs. Can Clove have a jar? Clove's going to catch so many!" She stamped her footpaws in excitement. "So many that it would be so bright, we won't need a campfire anymore! So many that-"_

_"Clove."_

_She fell silent. There was something sad and hollow about his voice- a tone that seemed so familiar to her. _

_"Yes?" she asked, unease making its way into her consciousness. _

_"You have to let it go," Keetch said, placing a gentle paw on her wrist._

_"Why?"_

_"Because it will die if it stays with you too long."_

_"But..."_

_"Clove." The fox sighed and shook his head. "You must understand that if you do care for it, you must do whatever it takes to make it happy. Even if it hurts, you have to do what's best for the firefly. You have to let it go."_

_"Clove understands," she said somberly, uncupping her paws. "Oh..." There was a little smear on her palm. She sniffled quietly, staring at the insect that she'd smothered. "Oh no... Did Clove kill it?" She felt tears welling up in her eyes. "Clove didn't mean to."_

_"Clove, please wake up."  
_

---

"Clove, wake up." She groaned as she blinked her eyes.

"Keetch?"

"We need to ask you a few questions." The Dibbun rubbed her eyes sleepily, trying to reclaim her memories. She herself being gathered up in powerful arms and carried away briskly. "Huh?" A face looked down at her. Tiny ears, blunt muzzle, brown fur. _An otter?_

The little rabbit felt herself being hauled up steps and for some reason, all she could think about was her dream. She turned her paws over, staring at her palms, scrutinizing for any black smudges. _It was all just a dream?_

"I've got her," the otter announced. Clove jerked her head up, staring at her new surroundings. It was a small room with a large table in the middle and solemn-faced creatures. There was a couple of squirrels that kept crying and she wanted to ask what happened, only a part of her told her it was best not to know.

"Hello Clove," a floppy-eared creature said as she was carefully lowered to a seat. "I'm Abbess Linette and I'd like to ask a few questions."

"Q-questions?" the child asked nervously, her eyes flitting between her audience. Most of all, she stared at the weeping squirrels.

"Clove," the abbess said in a serious voice. "We need to know about Keetch."

"Keetch?"

"Yes," she nodded. "See..." the hare paused, glancing at the squirrels before she continued. "There are three members of the abbey that are missing today: the otter Brink Rufeshodd, Sarrow Longshot, and... Keetch."

Her heart froze and all she could do was stare at her.

"I'm sorry Clove, but we've talked to Jolin and she confirmed that he's left and that Brink followed shortly."

"Keetch... left?" At that moment she felt as if she were under water, a faint roaring in her ears and her mind floating while blurry memories came to her vision. Keetch was very worried and strange that day. He said he was going, and he paused when she'd insisted that she come too. He hadn't even originally included her, and he still didn't want her.

"Keetch didn't want Clove to come?" Her lip quivered as her vision watered. "Keetch didn't want Clove."

"I'm sorry, but he has left," the abbess said gently, patting her back as she held the tiny paw in her own. "But the point now is that there is one other missing abbey member and her parents are worried sick about her."

"But... Keetch?" she sniffled, just at the edge of a sobbing. She looked to the elderly hare, her eyes confused, hopeless, and desperate. "B-but Keetch said he would leave tonight. Keetch said he'd bring Cl-ove." She hiccuped as she cried into her paws.

"There, there," Linette soothed. "Is there anything you can tell me about this? Anything at all? Did he mention taking anyone with him?"

"Keetch was s'posed to take Clove," she whimpered. "But Keetch doesn't want Clove. Clove's useless."

"I'm sure he wasn't thinking that? Anything else besides you?" The little rabbit just shook her head, her shoulders shuddering.

"I don't think she knows anything," the abbess said to the squirrel pair. "I'm sorry, but I don't know about Sarrow."

"But she wouldn't just run off without saying good-bye!" Arroway objected. "She just left a note saying that Martin ordered her to go as quickly as possible?! How could she?"

"Now, now," her husband comforted, though he didn't look much better. "I'm sure she had her reasons. She'll come back all safe and sound." He draped his arms around the squirrelwife's shoulders.

"But she's my baby."

"She's grown," he reassured. "She's strong. I've taught her everything I know, di'nt I?"

Suddenly the door burst open and a large figure strode in. "Searched everywhere, but we couldn't find 'em." Clove looked up from the floor and at the newcomer, curling her paws into a fist as she recognized him. Everything fit together now.

"Skipper," she growled, though she went unnoticed.

"I'm sorry marm," Raller sighed. "I saw 'er pawprints, but not a whisker. We tried."

"Skipper!" He turned around only to feel something pummel his side.

"Skipper hurt Keetch!" Clove screamed, beating him with her harmless fists. "Skipper hurted Keetch and killed him!"

"Whoa there." He caught her wrists and she tried to twist away, even attempting to bite at him.

"Skipper killed Keetch!" she shrieked, tears falling down her cheeks. "Clove wasn't a slave! Keetch came back to free Clove! The cuts didn't hurt! They didn't hurt!"

"Careful! I've got her!" Strong arms latched onto her and tugged her away as she kicked and screamed. "Calm down, shush now." She was placed on a cushioned chair, pressed against the back so that she couldn't move. "Calm down," the abbess commanded, smoothing her forehead with a gentle paw.

"No," the Dibbun sobbed. "Skipper killed Keetch. Skipper killed... Where is...." Whatever fury that had possessed her was gone, and all that was left was a broken child. She relaxed, curling her knees so that she could hug them against her chest.

"I didn't kill him," the otter said firmly, inspecting the claw marks on his arm. "He just decided to run off with his tail between his legs. I didn't do anythin'."

Abbess Linette was the first to sense the rabbit's stress. "Skipper, that's enough."

"But Skipper did," Clove insisted. "Keetch warned Clove not to tell and Skipper found out. Clove must've said something. Bad Clove!" She pummelled the side of her head with a fist. "Bad!" She trailed off at that, her gaze sliding back down to the floor.

"Find out?" the abbess asked, giving the otter a look that told him not to say a word. "Well what would that be?"

"Skipper knows," she sniffled, her breaths coming out shallow. "Skipper knows all about Keetch now."

"And what about Keetch?" the squirrelwife questioned, brushing the tears away.

Clove shrugged her skinny shoulders. "Cannot say."

"You can tell us," the hare encouraged. "He's not here right now."

"But Keetch said Abbeybeasts would kill him if they find out."

"You don't have to be frightened," the abbess soothed, picking her up and placing the child on her lap.

"But Skipper knows," she said weakly. "Skipper always said that Clove was Keetch's slave." There was a pause.

"Slave?" the elderly hare intoned.

"Skipper knew," the rabbit nodded, glaring at the otter. "Skipper knew that Clove was Keetch's slave once. It wasn't bad. Keetch never hit or beat Clove, but Old Grack was horrible. Keetch saved Clove, but only needed a little blood." Her breathing rose, and she erupted into another sob. "Please," she begged, pressing her face against the abbess's habit. "Please save Keetch! Keetch didn't do anything bad! Skipper's wrong about Keetch. Please!"

Each of the beasts exchanged looks with the other and sighed.

For the first time, Skipper finally got to speak. "What do you mean-"

"Raller," Linette interrupted. "Please, just look at her. She thinks she's been abandoned or that he's been killed. Interrogating her roughly isn't going to help us know what happened. She'd only panic." The otter sighed, not sure of what to say. "We have to talk to her slowly and gently," the hare said in a soft voice, stroking the girl's headfur lovingly. "Poor thing."

"I know just the thing," Raller announced.

---

Clove lay in her bed, curled up tight as a seashell. It was so quiet here compared to the nursery where the other children were. She didn't mind, though. If anything, she didn't want them to know what happened to the fox she'd boasted so much about.

_Knock-knock_

The door opened a crack to reveal a young otter. "Can I come in?" Clove said nothing, did nothing. The guest opened the door wider, stepping in to approach her.

"I'm sorry," he began. "He meant a lot to you. He didn't really tell us either..." He trailed off, waiting for her to say something, or at least elicit a response. Instead, the little rabbit kept herself curled and faced away from him. He supposed it was time for a different approach. "Um... I think I forgot to introduce myself earlier. I'm Tarka, and I hear that you're Clove? That's a nice name." That at least earned him an ear-twitch. He opened his mouth to speak again, though a tiny little voice beat him to it.

"Keetch gave Clove that name."

"How old were you then?" Again, it seemed that she was unwilling to speak. The otter sighed and put the candle holder down on the table.

"I know this is tough on you," Tarka said slowly. "But you know, you have to eat. You haven't done anything all day." No response.

"Don't you want to eat? We have some tomato soup today with some tasty mushroom-watercress pasties. Mmmmm." The otter rubbed his stomach and licked his lips in an exaggerated manner, but it was of no use. It seemed that nothing but time could possibly break her out of this melancholy spell.

"You know," he said. "I came to this abbey as an orphan too. When I first came I was so little and scared. I couldn't speak and I didn't feel like eating either."

"Otter lies," the child mumbled as she dug her head further into the pillow.

"I only wish," Tarka sighed, the memories and emotions flooding back. "I don't remember where we came from or why we traveled, but I remember me mum and daddy. I don't remember their faces, or their voices. But I do remember them... it's hard to explain."

"Clove can't remember her parents either. Clove tried. Keetch said that Clove's mommy and daddy must be dead."

"Mine are too." The otter hung his head. "At least you don't know for sure that they've died. I saw my..." He shut his eyes, as if he could block the image out of his head. Clove rolled in her bed and felt a bit of pity well in her heart. He looked so sad, she wanted to hug him.

"Poor Otter," she said, pulling her arm from under the covers and patting his paw. "Is it hurting somewhere?" He looked up and smiled at her.

"But I'm the one that was supposed to comfort you," Tarka replied. "And I'm Tarka, not Otter. There are too many otters here."

"Oh. Didn't Tarka have a Keetch?"

"A Keetch?"

"Somebeast that saves Tarka and takes good good care of him."

"You mean a guardian?" the otter asked, contemplating his answer. "Um... if I were to choose any one beast that's my 'Keetch,' it would be Skipper." Clove wrinkled her nose at that.

"But Skipper's mean. Clove doesn't like Skipper."

"He's not mean," he said defensively. "He was nice to you. He was nice to me too when they found me in the rain. I was crying and hungry and he carried me to his house and gave me food. He spent time with me every day to show me things at the holt and abbey. Some days, he would take me fishing and teach me how to read'n'write... I don't think I would've ever thought of being recorder if I didn't like those lessons."

"Clove wants to be a healer," she piped up, but then the sparkle in her eyes dimmed. "But..."

"But what?"

"Clove doesn't know how to heal it." She sat up, the blanket still draped about her tiny frame. And then she pressed her palm against her chest. "It hurts here," she whispered in a frail voice. "Clove's not bleeding, but it hurts... like a big cut."

"Oh?"

"Clove used to have it all the time," she explained. "But it went away. Keetch made it all better. And now it's here again... and it's not going to go away." She started sniffling as she pressed the linens to her face.

"Hey, hey," he comforted, picking her up and placing her on his lap. "It's going to be fine. It's normal to feel grief for things we love and worry 'bout. Don't you worry. You'll see him again."

"No Clove won't," she whimpered. "They're going to kill Keetch because Skipper knows."

"Skipper knows? What does he know? Something about cuts, right?"

The rabbit squirmed a little before the otter continued. "These cuts?" He pointed at the scars on her arms and she gave the faintest of nods.

"What happened there? Who cut you? Did Keetch?"

"No." She shook her head with force.

"Are you sure?"

She didn't say anything, though her eyes glimmered fearfully against the candle light.

"Well why would anybeast cut you?"

"Innocent blood," she whispered. That answer piqued the otter's interests.

"Why do they want your blood?"

"Clove cannot say," she replied. "Skipper knows."

"But if Skipper knows, he'd tell me anyways," Tarka reasoned, putting an arm around her. "It's alright. You don't have to be scared anymore." Still no response, though she did open her mouth and close it again, as if she had a second thought on speaking the truth. There was a part of him that didn't want to know- the part of him that didn't want to delve into the darkness of whatever horrors she'd been subjected to. But then again, as Skipper once said, "If there is to be any justice in the world there has to be truth and knowledge."

"Does he drink the blood?"

"No," she gasped, her mouth a perfect little circle.

"I think he drinks your blood," Tarka pressed, trying to sound convinced. "I hear that vermin do all sorts of nasty things."

"Keetch doesn't do that," she objected, all of a sudden looking furious. "Keetch just needs a little of it. For the bones." _More cryptic answers._

"What bones?"

Clove shook her head indignantly. "Clove made an oaf not to tell."

Tarka had to chuckle at that. "You mean 'oath?'"

"That's what Clove said."

"Well, your word is something that's bound in honor, but the truth is something a little more important, wouldn't ye say?"

"Clove doesn't know what Tarka is talking about." The otter sighed. Her bond with the fox was much stronger than he thought. Perhaps Skipper was wrong and nothing really happened? But then was that troubling talk of blood and bones. Childish lies or not, it was disturbing.

_But perhaps another time,_ he thought. _There is no use questioning her now. If anything, she only seems to get agitated or depressed if I ask too much of it. Perhaps later, when she's learned to trust others, she'd be more comfortable telling her story._

"Keetch doesn't want Clove anymore, Clove thinks."

"Huh?"

"Keetch promised to take Clove along. Keetch wouldn't leave Clove, would he?"

"It's hard for me to say..." Tarka began, but Clove cut him off.

"Keetch keeps his promises. That's why Skipper must have taken him." The rabbit frowned deeply at that, scowling as she crossed her arms.

"Listen," Tarka sighed. "I know it's hard, but don't you think that Keetch might've left you here because he knows it's safe?"

"No," she said sulkily.

"But it's true," he replied, resting his chin in a palm. "Believe me, I don't want to believe it, but one of my best friends is missing now and we think he went with him. There's no way that Sarrow would go missing if Keetch didn't."

"But why would Keetch leave Clove behind? Keetch promised." She pressed the linens to her face, a sure sign that she was about to cry.

"I don't know why he left, but he didn't want you to come because he didn't want you to get hurt," Tarka said hastily. She blinked at him, silently urging him to continue.

"Errrrr..." he scratched his head as he dug for answers. "For example, you have a brand new dress and you love it very much but you won't take it with you to play? You do that because you don't want it to get dirty, not because you don't like it."

"But clothes get dirty all the time. Clove doesn't mind."

"Uh, I know, but that's not the point. The point is, he was thinking like that. He didn't want you to be in more danger, so he left you here so you don't get hurt. Understand?"

"... Like firebugs?" she squeaked.

"Firebugs? You mean fireflies, right?"

The child nodded in a somewhat sage manner before she broke out in an excited storytelling. "One time Clove saw lots and lots and lots of firebugs and Keetch gave Clove a big big _big_ jar to put them all in. Clove caught so many and it was so pretty- more than ten! And then, Keetch told Clove to let them go but Clove wanted to keep them forever and ever and they could be with Keetch and Clove all the time. But Keetch said Firebugs would die and that... uhm..." She slowed down and licked her lips in thought. "Keetch said that if Clove loves them, Clove has to let them go because they like the Outside. Firebugs like to be with their mommies and daddies and Keetches, Clove thinks."

"I think that's the idea," Tarka agreed. "And that is a very good lesson." But then her face fell apart.

"So is Clove 'Clove' or is Clove the firebugs?"

"Hm?"

"Keetch went away, so is Keetch happier to be Outside? Does Clove have to let Keetch go because he's happier without her?" she asked, curling herself within the protection of the blanket.

"No no no," Tarka assured, hugging her gently as he tried to grasp the analogy. "I saw you with him, and I think he loves you very much. If he didn't love you, he wouldn't free you or let you follow him or feed you or let you collect fireflies. He loves you. He does." He paused wiping a stray tear from her cheek before he continued. "I think that of all things, he had to let you go, because he knows that all the fighting will stop someday and that you'll grow up to be happier here in Redwall."

"Really?"

"It makes sense, doesn't it? You're the firefly and he's... er... not you, but he is the one that lets you go. He wants you to be happy, see?"

"Oh," she nodded, gripping his sleeve tight.

"Do you feel better now?" the otter asked, finally feeling that his job was done. "Will you eat anything? It's night time and supper's over, but I'm sure we can sneak you a little something," he winked.

"No," she said. "Maybe breakfast tomorrow."

"Well, at least that's something." He gently picked her up and placed her on the bed, tucking her neatly under the sheets before standing up. "It's bedtime for you and it's bedtime for me too," he said, feigning a yawn. "Good night."

"No!" she shouted. "No! Tarka stays here. He has to stay with Clove."

"But I have to go outside now," he reasoned. "I'll visit you in the morning when-"

"No!" she said stubbornly, leaping out of bed and stumbling towards him. "Clove stays with Tarka."

"But-"

"Clove wants to be with Tarka." She grabbed the front of his tunic, looking up at him pleadingly. "Please?" He was snared in a net now.

"Oh fine," he groaned, grabbing the candle holder and taking her tiny wrist in paw. "But only if you promise to behave?"

"Yes."

"Alright then," he said, trying to sound as stern as possible. "But it's just because you would've been transferred to our wing anyways."

She tilted her head. "Transfer? Wing?"

"It means that we would've made you move to the other side of the abbey," he explained. "And a wing, it isn't like a bird's wing. It's just a name for another place in the abbey."

"Ooh. Then where's the beak?"

"There is no beak," he said, closing the door behind them.

"Then why does Clove have to be moved to the wing?" she giggled at the word. "Clove goes to a wing!"

"Because," he explained, "we needed to use the Nursery to make room for the injured. Just today we moved all the Dibbuns so that they stay near our holt. It's a little louder, but it's still a nice place. We would've moved you back with the rest of the children when you were ready."

"Oh." She hugged his arm, skipping down the hall. "Clove loves Tarka very muchly!"

"Uh, thanks," he said, grinning at her cheerful antics. "I like you too."

"Tarka can be a good Keetch," she announced. "But Tarka isn't is good as Keetch."

---

Even though the abbey was filled with the moaning of injured beasts or grieving families, it was at least quiet outside- too quiet. No crickets meant danger. Melo gripped his spear, glaring at the shapeless shadows beyond the tree line. What were they waiting for? It bothered him that the fight wasn't too strong today. It wasn't like they were beginning to lose confidence or that dissension was occurring in their squalid ranks. No. No matter what some of the others said, it didn't feel like victory was just on the horizon.

Why would Martin ask Sarrow to leave if the war was ending soon anyways? Speaking of which, why did Martin tell Sarrow at all? Why did the warrior mouse tell her these things and not him? And that fox Keetch? Even if he was on their side, why did Martin choose a vermin over a potential warrior like himself? Why? Didn't he know that he was a better fighter than Sarrow? She could get hurt out there and he wouldn't even be able to help her all because he wasn't some "chosen beast?"

"Guard duty, eh Melo?"

"Yessir!" The mouse whirled around to give his salute, his spearhead nearly clipping Skipper in the ear.

"Easy there, mate," he chuckled.

"Right. Sorry Skip. Just thinking."

"About what?"

"Well," the youngster began, "you think I'm a great warrior, right?"

"Hm," the otter chieftain scratched his chin thoughtfully. "Yer a _good_ warrior, but not great. Not yet, anyhow. You still need a bit more experience under your belt, Melo."

"I suppose..."

"Thinking about Sarrow?" Skip guessed.

"Well of course."

"Yeah," the chieftain sighed. "It worries me, those three. They're out of our paws and we don't even know what's gonna happen to them- Brink especially."

"Really?" Melo asked. "I thought you would care a bit more about Sarrow."

"I do care about her, but the thing is..." Skip paused, leaning on the wall, though he was far from relaxed. "I think I was a bit too hard with Brink lately. I never thought he'd just run off, y'know? It just makes me wonder what would happen to him. Uh, not like anything too bad can happen to him and Sarrow, I mean," he said quickly. "They'll probably be okay. I bet Sarrow's all caught up with him and they're both safe and sound right now, eh?"

"I guess," Melo mumbled, propping his elbows on the wall. "Though she's not as good a warrior as me. She could be hurt out there. Why didn't she at least tell me she was going instead of just leaving a note? I would've gone on Martin's quest."

"Hm. Listen mate, you're a great fighter and you've got some fire in ye, but it sounds t'me like you're more about all this 'warrior' business rather than her."

"No," he insisted. "I do care about Sarrow. It's just that when I said that, I was just wondering..." he faltered, his reason leaving him with no excuse. "It's not like I don't care or anything!" The otter put a paw on the mouse's shoulder.

"You sure can put up a good fight, Melo, but you have to realize that that's not all Martin looks for. A warrior and a fighter are two completely different things. A fighter is like a mercenary- only fights for the helluva it or for some reward. A warrior fights to protect and uphold his beliefs. A warrior is strong but gentle, and is always willing to risk his life for those that he cherish. Those warlords out in the past, never once in our books have they been called 'warriors.' Warlords, yes, but never warriors. Get it?"

"Well I don't fight all the time for nothing," Melo replied. "But I get your point. What should I do, though?"

"I don't think that anybeast cares if you're chosen by Martin to wield his blade or not," Skipper answered. "Instead of worrying 'bout something like that, you should work hard to do your best for the abbey. If you've got the guts to fight and the heart to sacrifice all, I bet you'll do Martin proud."

Melo sighed, resting his chin on his arms. "But I do care."

"Aye, you do, but you're young Melo," Skip smiled. "You've still got time to grow."

_Plenty of time to grow, huh? All the legends tell of natural-born warriors, that they had this courageous fighting spirit instilled within them from the first moments in their lives. If Matthias was already my age when Cluny attacked, but he seemed to 'grow' overnight. He had never picked up a sword in his life and yet Martin still guided him. Martin was so sure of his choice that he chiseled it in wall ages before the time came. _

_Clang-clang-clang-clang-clang!_

Skipper and Melo whirled around, all-too familiar with the frantic pounding of pans.

"The South Wall!" Skipper announced, grabbing his staff and blazing through the ramparts. Melo was close behind, trying his hardest to keep up to the otter's pounding footsteps; and besides the roaring in his ears, he heard the the screams of battle and the clash of metal. Up ahead, more woodlanders were running to the battlements, unsheathing their swords or drawing their bows on the way.

Melo blinked past the darkness, gasping as he noticed the trickle of vermin climbing from over the wall. _How did they do that?! _He realized that he was already a good distance away from Skip and sped on, clutching his javelin with all his might. Skip yelled something and jumped into the chaos, whipping his javelin this way and that. Melo pushed his way through the crowd, spear pointed to the sky lest he jab one of the Redwallers.

_There._ The trickle of vermin had grown into steady waves, and now they had spread to all areas of the ramparts. Melo shoved his way to the front, nearly crashing into a ferret with a menacing battle axe. The vermin practically jumped over the wall, roaring with madness before heaving the blade over his shoulder and cleaving sideways, crushing the sides of skulls. Melo stepped backwards slightly as several other Redwallers surged forward, spears at the ready only to fall with a blinkless expression as blood trickled from their wound. The ferret was ready for death, though, and practically leapt right into the next group, swinging his axe and pummeling away at them.

Melo charged, rotating his shoulders and wrenching his spear into the vermin's spine with full force. There was a terrible shudder before the body went stiff. He dropped, and Melo could've sworn that somebeast was screaming elsewhere. He whipped his head around, eyes widening as a sword flew down to his neck. For an instant, he couldn't move. It was all as if he was watching everything from under water while his mind screamed at him to do something. Run. Dodge. Fight. Anything.

He ducked down just in time, practically stumbling backwards, right over the ferret's carcass, and rolled to the side, again evading another blow. He struggled to his feet in this crowd only to be knocked back down as a woodlander crashed into his side. This was different from firing arrows at a distance. If anything, he could be pushed right off the ramparts. The mouse looked around him, shielding himself from the clumsy paws staggering about. His back pressed against the wall, he got a clear view of the vermin overcoming their wall. _But how?_

It was almost too dark to see, but he could just make something out. The mouse pressed a palm against the wall, pushing his legs under him as he tried to stand. _There._ There were things latched to the wall. He stood up, staring down at the oncoming vermin as they climbed the rungs, grisly weapons strapped to their bodies. Already Melo could see the rough ladders being rushed from the woods and towards the abbey walls. He grabbed onto one of the metal hooks that held the ladder to the wall, mustering all his strength. The hook moved just an inch, but that was all he could accomplish before a mangy paw reached out and gripped the last rung. Melo growled, whipping his sword out of his sheath, heaving it over his head to cleave the rat's head in two. However, the vermin conquered the top, not even pausing before barreling towards him.

"Redwaaaall!" Melo yelled, trying his best not to close his eyes. The rat raised his own sword, bringing the weapon crashing down only to be parried. Melo grunted, the vibration of the clashing steel throttling his arm. Another swing again. The young warrior gasped, angling his sword and barely catching the blow aimed for his hip. Their swords grated, and Melo felt his legs bracing as he was being pushed backwards.

"No!" He shouted, his arms beginning to cave in. He staggered sideways, his shoulder colliding with the wall, his arms still held out to his side as his sword continued to defend him. He could swear he heard the rat snicker as his weapon slid up the metal.

Melo groaned, shifting his footing as if he could root his feet to the ground. His heel connected with the wall and he winced, pressing his sole against the bricks and leaning forward, still concentrating on his defense. His sword was wobbling now and the vermin was grinning ear to ear. His heart was pounding, the corners of his vision were blackening. The mouse clenched his teeth, bending his legs and pushing his footpaw against the wall.

He yelled, and like a spring, his leg uncoiled, launching him from the wall and into the rat. The metals hissed as they scraped against each other and he saw the surprise on the enemy's face before he collided into him. The mouse shut his eyes, though he felt his body tumble in the panic. Something buffeted him between the ears and he opened his eyes, his head throbbing as he forced himself to get up. He blinked, the battlecries and screams ringing in his ears. There, just an arm's length away from him, a mouse was staring blankly at the sky, his lips parted in a gasp at the arrow protruding out of his chest. Melo grabbed his sword and bolted upright, looking for anybeast to take on.

There were plenty.

The ladders were spreading over the walls, coming at them all too quickly. The mouse cringed, grabbing those cruel hooks again, the blood on his paws slicking his grip as he tried to pry the ladder away. Quickly, more came to help, grunting in effort as other warriors guarded their backs.

"Almost there," Melo encouraged himself. Suddenly, the hook gave way with a lurch. The ladder stood straight up in the air at first, vermin cringing and shouting in alarm, and then momentum caught it, bringing it down backwards. Melo screamed, letting go just before he was pulled to the other side of the wall.

_Clang-clang-clang-clang-clang!_

Melo gasped. That alarm sounded like it was from the Northern wall. Were they planning to swarm the abbey in this mass invasion? He chanced a glance behind him, witnessing the downfall of several other ladders. Whatever was happening, the Northern wall might need his help more. He ran out of the battle, nearly falling down the stairs as more of Redwall's reinforcements charged up to the cloud of turmoil. He raced through the courtyard, his lungs about to explode right before he felt his heart skip a beat.

The ground was already littered with dead, tripping up the combatants as they struggled for victory.

"Look out!" somebeast shouted from above. Melo instinctively let his legs crumple beneath him, throwing his arms over his head in the process. He heard the air whistle above him and then there were a few sickening thuds and cries of agony. He looked up, his eyes switching between the archers at the windows and at their line of defense. The Redwallers were holding themselves well, but they were struggling to keep the line of vermin away at the gates.

And just beyond that line battle was something even worse: vermin racing to and fro on their lawns, some carrying bundles on their shoulders or dragging burdens along.

_They're stealing our weapons and supplies!_ was the first thought buzzing through Melo's mind. But the the next revelation struck him like a hammer blow to the head- the 'stolen goods' were struggling and crying out in fear as the hordebeasts carried them up to the battlements.

_It was a diversion! Everything on the South wall was a diversion to get their abduction set up!_ His mind boiled. _But what to do? Our defenses can't let the vermin open the gates for the rest or all of us are doomed. But... but we _can't_ let them take hostages. There are Dibbuns in that wing!_

Melo made his mind, dashing straight for the abbey's main doors. If the vermin managed to get through the main gates, how long would the abbey hold? What if the vermin causing the diversion were forcing their way through abbey doors right as he spoke? He shoved it open, knocking a few panicked woodlanders aside as he ran for the North Wing.

"Stop!" a vole grabbed him by the collar, dragging him back.

"NO!" Melo shouted, elbowing him roughly in the side. "Let me go! They've got them!"

"Too late. We've barricaded the door," the vole replied, the timbre of his voice rattling in the mouse's ears. "The vermin got in through the North Entrance and we're trying to stop them from going anywhere else. Can't you see? We have to stop them here. There's nothing more we can do!"

"I said _let go_!" the warrior struggled, unsheathing his weapon. That got the creature to release him immediately.

"I didn't want to!" he said in defense. "None of us wanted to, but we can't let them take any more!"

"Then _fight!_" Melo growled, throwing aside the wooden planks that blocked the door. A few other woodlanders ran up and restrained him as he kicked and screamed, not caring if he kicked or punched any of them.

"We can't borrow any more forces from anywhere! If we do, they'll open the gates or invade another part of the abbey. We're stretched too thin!"

"But Tarka's in there!" Melo spat, trying to pry them off of him. "They'll take him away! We can't abandon them, you idiots! Cowards!"

"I'm sorry, but we can't afford to lose anymore!"

"MOVE!" Melo felt one of those restraining arms slacken and the room went quiet for a moment.

"Let him go," Skipper snapped. "NOW!" Blood drizzled down the chieftain's snarled face and one eye was swelled shut. The score of otters behind him didn't seem to be faring much better.

"We're going in," he boomed. He didn't give the other Redwallers a chance to sputter an argument before he and the rest of the otters tossed the debris aside.

"B-b-but-" the vole stuttered.

"My family's in there!" Skipper bellowed. "_Our _families are in there." He shoved the rest of the planks and furniture away. "We're going in there and we're prepared to die trying. When we go, close the door behind us and barricade it. I don't care!" He barely tried to unstuck the door before it shuddered open. He turned around, facing the willing warriors with a stern and worried face. "Everyone stick together. We're going to save as my as we can."

He passed through the entrance, sword at the ready as the others followed his example. Melo gulped, lingering at the entrance as he waited for the last otter to leave. It seemed like a good idea before, but now the doorway was bigger and the other side looked dark and forbidding. He swore he saw something shift about in the darkness there. Just when the vole and the other meek woodlanders had scooped up their materials, Melo made his mind. He entered, closing the door behind him. _Clunk! _That was the sound of the first plank being laid.

Melo kept his eyes forward, waiting for his vision to adjust as he shuffled his paws over the blankets and upturned tables. He followed the otters in the distance, glancing at the shadowy silhouettes propped against the walls or lying under heaps of wood and furniture. Glass were strewn on the floor and beds were tossed upside-down.

_Thump!_

The mouse jumped at the noise, holding his sword out at the direction it came from. "W-who's there?" he demanded, glancing at where the otters had left. They weren't in sight. Perhaps they didn't hear him? Whatever it was, he couldn't find the voice to speak any louder.

"Who are you? Show yourself, vermin." Those words barely came out as a whisper.

It was quiet, and then a stifled whimpering sounded from one of the cabinets. Melo relaxed a little, though still kept his weapon at paw. "Don't worry," he said gently. "I'm a Redwaller. I'm a friend." He bent down and pulled the door open cautiously, anticipating the worst. A tiny Dibbun vole was curled in the corner, crouched behind a large garden basket. He held out a paw. "Come here. I'm here to help." The child sniffled, grabbing the offered paw eagerly.

"Shhh. I'm here to help, but it's still not quite safe yet." Melo pulled her out, carrying her in one arm as he maneuvered past the obstructions. Why was it so quiet? Perhaps it was that they were still on the first floor and the vermin were attacking the upper levels? The vole buried her head on his shoulder, clenching his clothes in her fists. Melo glanced warily, just waiting for an enemy to jump out at him.

_Bang!_ It sounded muffled and far away. The Dibbun whimpered some more and Melo hushed her. His mouth felt dry and his whiskers were twitching with anticipation. The room was pitch and he kept stumbling over books and bodies. Where was everybeast? It was a mistake to come here. He shuffled through, wandering about this labyrinth that was once home. He was easy pickings. Somewhere, someone, sometime, some_thing_ was going to jump out at him and slit his throat. Sure Skip and the rest had passed through here, but he was a lone mouse with a babe. All one would have to do is step lightly and be quick with a rusty knife. He couldn't stand it anymore. Melo rushed forward, running as fast as he could in hopes that he would catch up to the others.

Something jumped out of the shadows, leaping right in front of them with a spear. The backed away, holding his sword out defensively.

"Melo? What are you doing runnin' like a maniac?" An otter lowered his weapon as Melo breathed a sigh of relief.

"I got one," the mouse said, nodding at the child.

"Good," Skipper replied somewhere up ahead. "And don't scare us like that. Now hurry up! We have to save as many as we can." The otter chieftain waded through the remnants of the room's old inhabitants before turning back. "Oh, and put her somewhere safe for now. We'll come back and save her once all of this is over." The mouse nodded numbly, picking a out a disheveled closet space.

"We'll come back for you," Melo reassured her, pulling her off of him and nestling her between a mop and a bucket. "Stay hidden and we'll come." The little vole whimpered again as Melo closed the door so that it was open just a crack- just in case she needed some air.

"C'mon! They're at the stairway," the otter urged. Melo followed as close as he could, wincing as he stubbed his toes a few times and stepped on some stray shards of glass. There were sounds of struggling somewhere, and his grip on his hilt tightened. Melo drew a mental map from his memories. All they had to do was enter a high-ceilinged room and turn right to get to the stairway; and opposite of that set of steps would be the Northern Entrance. There were shouting sounds and groans and high-pitched shrieking somewhere up there.

The otters stopped suddenly, pressing their backs to the wall as the shrieking got louder. Melo hastily did the same, watching as large, brutish silhouettes crossed the hall further ahead, carrying wailing bundles on their shoulders.

"NOOOOO!" a familiar voice screeched as it was bundled out of the building.

"Jolin," Skipper gasped before stowing his caution and racing outside. There was a cry of alarm and a squeal of pain before the otters charged, screaming their battlecries as they joined their leader in rescuing the captives. Some charged upstairs while some ran out to the open lawns to finish the battle. Melo followed Skipper, running outside and into more chaos. Otters clashed with the vermin, the helpless captives scooting away as they tried their hardest to recover from their shock. Meanwhile, the vermin guarding their kidnapping route joined the fray, coming at the otters with studded clubs. Melo stood in the middle of it, his knees shaking uncontrollably. As much a warrior he wanted to be, there was a small part of him that wanted to run back to the closet and hide with the vole.

"Uncle Raller!" the ottermaid shrieked, struggling with her captor as he bustled her, hauling her up the flights of steps and onto the ramparts. The otter surged forward, skillfully gutting one hordebeast before whirling around to behead another that attacked from his blind spot. Two more of his otters caught up with him. "Uncle Raller, help me _please_!"

"Jolin!" he called as he started up the steps, neatly slicing the throats of two attacking vermin and kicking another off the stairs. "Jolin, I'm coming!" But there were already vermin guarding the ramparts. _How's he going to make it?_

Melo heard something stomping up behind him and he whirled around to see a stoat carrying an unconscious otter on his shoulders. Melo growled and gripped his sword with both paws. Now this fight had better odds- and enough space to move freely, for that matter. They weren't outnumbered this time and the just like the woodlanders, the vermin were too busy with other battles to spare any help. The vermin stopped and recognized the danger, dropping his load unceremoniously on the ground. Melo was the first to charge.

"Redwaaaaall!" Their swords clashed and Melo felt the vermin's blade nick his arm. He bit back the pain, blocking yet another blow that practically swatted him to the side. The mouse held fast, skidding on his knees and springing towards the enemy upon landing. He saw his chance the moment the stupid creature was hoisting his weapon over his head for a powerful, blood-splattering blow to the neck. Melo leaped forward, arms bent and sword pointed straight ahead.

The vermin cried out in pain, dropping to his sliced knee as blood began oozing out.

"I'll get you! I'll get you for this, mouse!"

Melo, kneeling on the ground, wrenched his sword free from the wound, renewing the agony as he dodged the beast's mindless swing. "I'll get you for this!" His eyes were red and spittle was spraying out of his mouth. Before Melo could get off his knees, the vermin swung aimlessly again. This time, he caught the mouse's head with the hilt of his blade, knocking the woodlander down. Melo groaned, clenching his fists only to know that his weapon wasn't there. His sword arm felt heavy and everything felt numb. He blinked, the black colors swirling around as fire erupted somewhere in the distance. _Fire?_

Melo got his arms underneath him, trying to get up despite the harsh ringing in his ears. He had to.

"I've got'cha now, mousie."

"No..." Melo strained himself, but the fire up ahead burned his retinas. Was it him? Was the fire moving?

"Melo!" Something thudded beside him. The mouse's eyes widened at the glazed eyes and the stream of blood pooling out of the stoat's foul mouth. "Melo! Melo! You alright?" He felt a pair of arms turn him over, cradling his head.

"Tarka?" The otter's face looked battered and there was some blood splattered on his cheek. "But the vermin..." He raised his head a little, looking at the sword stabbed into the vermin's back.

"I woke up and I saw you fighting..." Melo could feel Tarka's paws shaking. "...Couldn't stand t'see you killed." The otter rubbed the back of his head, wincing at a sore spot. "They took them. They took a lot of us." He shook his head, his eyes tearing up. "I grabbed as many Dibbuns as I could and tried to get to the top floor. I tried to fight them but they knocked me out... for a while." Tarka blinked at his surroundings and at the battle further up. "No," he gasped, nearly dropping his friend's head onto the ground. "Fire. We used fire arrows on the vermin."

"Tarka, Melo!" Powerful arms grabbed them. The panicked, struggling and kicking, before he realized that otters were pulling them out of the way. Fur was smeared all over their fur and their faces had cuts and welts all over. _Is that what I look like?_ That was the last thought that crossed his mind before he blacked out.

* * *

**Again, I'm not too happy with this chapter, but it's the best I could do in the short notice (about to get my ass grounded here). So, thanks for reading and everything. What happened to Jolin and Skipper and all the other captives? You're just going to have to wait for next time to find out. ;)**

**And yes, it was a bit rushed I think, but I have to hurry to get this out of the way before college engulfs every free time I used to have. I tried my best with the action scenes and describing things, but I can't linger on battle strategies too long for some reason. Anyways, if you are lost about what the heck is happening (since I don't feel that I described the situations perfectly) then please shoot me a PM and I'll try to piece things together. Please review. :)  
**


	54. True Loyalty

**Oh gawd. I'm sorry for the long pause in updates. I wanted to post it up on my 18th b-day, but it's a week late. :( **

**Really, college is kicking my ass right now and stuff. Remember back in Throw Down Your Guise when I said that I need some stress in order to write well? Well, stop wishing me stress or this overload is going to kill me! XP**

**And I'm really really sorry if I'm really behind on Review Replies and actual reviews for stories. I will get back to them all. I promise.  
**

**Special thanks to those who reviewed: Fwirl of Redwall, Siran 744, Quavera Tava, Jarrtail, DGShadowChocolate, Reader, Shards-of-Airan, Sanfrasm, and logan Clark.  
**

**Anyways, this chapter was kinda fun to write. And when I say that, you know I'm sadistic. :P So, now we have some interesting things happening here, though I'm sure what comes is something you guys have all been waiting for. Enjoy. :)**

**Disclaimer: Violence (you should seriously know this by now!)  
**

* * *

**True Loyalty **

(Seriously, if it wasn't for the sake of consistency, you know I would be forsaking this to be 'Chapter 54' XP)

* * *

Clove squealed in fright, too terrified to struggle against her captor as he carried her under an arm. Suddenly he stopped, grabbing her with both paws and flipping her on her back so that she was staring at the sky. The rabbit gasped, looking down to see that she was dangling high over the wall.

"W-wait! Pl-"

The paws that supported her back left her and she plummeted to the ground. She screamed, curling up as she squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for the big _Thud!_ that would silence everything else.

"Ugh!" Her eyes sprang open as she felt something slap her torso. She panted, trying to roll to her stomach before something yelled in her ear. Somebeast grabbed her arm and dragged her to the side and off the suspended net that caught her fall. And littered around the area were a bunch of corpses with crooked bodies, their eyes bulging in fright. Again, she was bundled under an arm and being carried off. She stared ahead in terror, watching as a screaming Dibbun landed in the net, his limbs flailing about before another shady beast grabbed him and carried him off.

"Wait!" she pleaded. "Please Master, let Clove go. Please!" But if the vermin even heard her, he didn't show it. The rabbit sobbed, kicking feebly as her fingers tried to pry his arms off her waist, but it was no use. If anything, he squeezed harder, his claws digging into her ribs as a warning. She stopped immediately after that, not wanting to anger him any more.

"Keetch," she whimpered, trying to grasp her surroundings despite her obstructive ears that flopped against her face.

_Fwap!_

Everything seemed to go far worse after that. The vermin grunted, stumbling head-over-heels, taking her along for the ride before crashing right on top of her.

"Oof!" She panted, recovering her breath as she waited for her captor to pick himself up and drag her along. She would've stayed there, waiting for the distant screams and battle cries to stop, but she was sure the vermin's heavy bulk would crush her before any of that would happen. Bustled and bruised as she was, Clove managed to wriggle her way from under the carcass, breathing deeply as she freed her head.

She didn't get a long time to congratulate herself for her accomplishment before something tugged harshly at her ears, yanking upwards as if she was some weed. The Dibbun cried out, reaching her arms up and clawing at whatever she could. She heard an annoyed grunt as her claws caught fur and cloth, and then she felt something hard crash against her cheek. She gasped, blinking past the flashing stars, as she went limp as a rag doll, allowing her new Master to drag her by the ears.

Clove could barely feel it, the tug on those delicate ears as her knees scraped uselessly against the muddy earth. She felt dizzy and sick- like she was going to retch. It was dark and she tried to tilt her head to see, but everything felt like a daze. This helplessness- it felt so much like that times that Grack got cross with her and held a cloth against her face, refusing to let go no matter how hard the child struggled and screamed. But every time Clove's struggles became too weak and she was sure she was going to die, Grack would release her, allowing her to cough and sputter on the ground.

_But Old Grack died,_ her mind sounded. _Why is Clove still being hurted?_

She remembered the very last time Grack did that to her.

---

_She was pushed up against the craggy cave walls, mewling piteously and making promises of improvement before Grack stifled her mouth with a decaying rag. Her eyes watered as her gag reflex started, and she kicked and squirmed. She shook her head no, looking pleadingly at Grack's cruel eyes before shutting her eyes again. Old Grack had been angrier than usual nowadays and Slave didn't mean to break the pot of milkweed sap. She really didn't. She gripped her Master's wrist, trying to pry it off her face, but the vixen slammed her head hard against the wall. For some reason she had a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. Her Master might not even let go._

_Slave pushed up from the wall, trying her hardest to break free, but her strength was quickly giving out by the second. She was sure her lungs were shriveling as they screamed for air.  
_

_"What are you doing? Stop! You're really killing it."_

_"Don't tell me what to do, Apprentice," Grack snapped, ignoring the slave's feeble attempts to pry her paw off her snout._

_"No point in killing her."_

_"She needs to learn her lesson, yes?" the vixen rasped. "She needs to know that I can take her life away if I please." There was a pause in the argument, and the cloth was ripped away from her face. The slave dropped to the ground, crying and retching as the argument continued above her._

_"I'm the next seer," the younger fox said, dropping the snatched rag to the ground. "If we lose her blood, it's all over. We need her alive for the ritual of bones and we can't do anything risky like that."_

_"Who says it needs to be _fresh_ blood? We could hang the useless thing upside down, slit its throat, and drain it all, yes?" the Master cackled. The rabbit paled at that statement, whimpering her worries. _

_"But Master..."_

_"Shut up!" the apprentice commanded, before Grack landed a swift kick to her stomach. Slave did as he said, cringing back as Grack hobbled off._

_"'Think yer getting soft," she muttered under her breath as she traveled to the deeper recesses of the cave. _

_"You are being crazier by the day," Apprentice muttered to himself. Slave exhaled, glad that the old crone was gone. The Dibbun grasped the wall, pulling herself up to her shaky knees as she continued to cough and rub her sore throat.  
_

_"You'll live." She froze in place before the Apprentice stalked off, leaving her alone. For whatever reason she couldn't understand, she wanted to follow him, though she wasn't sure if he'd like that. She waited in the dark, pondering her feelings before she came to a conclusion: he made the pain stop. She was safe with him._

_---  
_

_Keetch isn't here,_ said the scared voice in her head. _He isn't here to make the pain stop._

The rabbit blinked the tears out of her eyes, reaching up to the paws that were tearing her ears out of her head.

"Clove's ears... Please..." she mumbled, but he twisted her ears for silence as he trudged on. Clove took the pain quietly after that, willing herself to stop whimpering in case he got angry. Suddenly that claws around her ears unraveled, throwing her onto the earth with a thud. She cried out in alarm, cringing back before he would grab her by the ears again, but he was already gone- probably to pick up another hostage. She kept her head down in a submissive position as she shuffled back, bumping into something soft in the process. Past the throb of her ears, she didn't notice the terrified whimperings.

All the captives were huddled together, some of them comforting one another and the others shivering and wailing while the captors kept their sharp weapons trained on their prisoners. Clove clung onto a sleeve, pressing it against her face as she pressed herself closer into the group, hoping to sneak to the middle and hide there. _Where's Keetch? Clove wants Keetch and Tarka. _

She clung hopelessly to the huddle, still settled on the outer portion before she gathered enough courage to look around. She was cautious at first, looking down in case of eye contact, and she kept herself in a prostrate position, just in case.

There were all sorts of beasts she'd never seen before. Some were mice with bigger, naked, scaly tails. Some were like the otters, but with smaller tails that were black at the end. And then there were foxes. Clove nearly smiled at her good fortune. _Foxes! Like Keetch! _But they were all scarred and they spoke in the most snappish and snarling ways that all thoughts of approaching them were wiped out of her options. Certainly this was not a good time to appeal to them.

"ENOUGH!" somebeast called out. Everything stopped, and Clove realized that there were no more captives being dropped into the panicked mass.

"Thank goodness," somebeast beside her breathed. "The abbey still stands."

"You lot, sort'em out!" Immediately, the new Masters closed in on the group, each of them grabbing a beast and forcing them to stand as they looked them up and down. Clove could only watch and stare as they contemplated each woodlander, ordering them to go in different places. Eventually, there was a pattern that nobeast could ignore. All the sickly or injured beasts were ordered to one corner, separated from those that were perfectly healthy. If anything, it seemed that the injured beasts were wounded recently- probably on the fall to the net. She shuddered, imagining landing on her face and snapping her neck.

"Cowards!" Clove looked at the protester. It was so odd. She almost couldn't recognize Skipper by the way he was kneeling, blood scabbing his face and his eye swelled. "Vermin! Taking the weak and killing them while they remain helpless! Gimme a weapon and I'll fight you right now if you have the gu-oof!" Some of the captives wailed shrilly as he slumped back down, hanging his head and panting from the harsh kick to the ribs.

"You! Up!" She looked up to meet the eyes of a brown fox before looking down again, doing exactly as she was told.

"Yes Master," she squeaked. He grabbed her shoulder, gripping it tight as he checked her teeth. She looked at him, noting the way he frowned when he pinched her arm, a tiny bit of flesh between her fingers. "Skinny," he grunted, as he looked her up and down- contemplating her fate. "No broken bones. Healthy 'nough." She was waved off to the healthy pile before the next prisoner was hauled up. Clove sighed with relief as she sat down with the living pile, though the rest didn't seem as content. They were crying still, begging with the guards not to harm the others. It was useless, though. Clove knew what was going to happen.

* * *

The dawn had already come. Damage was done. Casualties were high. Skipper was taken. Jolin was snatched away. Brook was gone. Gone. Even when he looked at his still parents in their coffins, Rosco had never felt so alone.

"It's all my fault," he said wearily, cupping his head in his paws. "I should've been there to protect them. I should've been with my uncle to stop 'em. I should've fought harder when they burst in."

"Hey Rosco," Melo put a paw on his shoulder. "It's going to be alright. We'll strike a deal. We'll get them back."

"How?" The otter waved his paws in the air, motioning at all the moaning beasts in the crammed Infirmary. "We don't have th'means to create an offensive or anythin' like that."

"One on one battle." The words popped out of the mouth like air. "I'll battle them one on one. Winner take all."

"Melo, get your head out of the clouds," Rosco scolded, slamming a paw against the mattress. "This is not one of those stories. You're still a kid!" The mouse blinked before turning his head and looking to the ground. "This is not one of those problems that's easily fixed, dammit!" Melo didn't know what to say. He'd never seen him this angry. Never snapped at him before.

"I'm going out to the dawn watch," he mumbled before trudging off. "I hope you get better."

Rosco didn't say anything at that. He had other things to think about now.

Why didn't they take him? Why was it that he was strong enough to save himself and _only_ himself? He placed a paw on his side, feeling where the blood seeped into his bandage. If he'd been more careful, that wouldn't have happened and he would've had the strength to at least save her. Brook was right there. She was right in front of him and he let them take her away.

"How are you Rosco?" asked a tired voice. He looked up, the results of long, sleepless nights etched onto Mirril's face.

"Done better," he muttered, hanging his head.

"It's not your fault," she sighed, sitting on the edge of his bed. "Melo keeps telling me how you and Tarka keep beating yourselves over this. That mouse does the same exact thing as you two, but it's truly not your fault. We can't blame ourselves when we know we didn't do anything intentionally. If anything, it's those vermin. No point in torturing ourselves- it isn't healthy."

"Then what _should_ I do?" he asked, hanging his head over the matter.

"Rest up. Get better. You can't help anybeast while in bed."

"And I can't help anybeast when I'm alive and perfectly healthy either."

She put her paw on his. "And one of these days, Rosco, you're going to do something to save them all. You'll see. One of these days we're going to make it through. And when that happens, Jolin and Brook would be there, running to your arms while Skipper tells you how proud he is."

Rosco looked down, smiling sheepishly at the image. "It's funny. Whenever I got into trouble, Jolin would sigh and say 'Now Rosco, what would you ever do without me? You're hopeless," he said in a falsetto imitation. He laughed dryly at the humor, tears glistening in his eyes. "What _am _I going to do without them?"

Mirril smiled. She would've given more encouragement if somebeast hadn't cleared his throat for attention. "Aherm!" They turned to see Baron, dressed in his full regalia and adjusting his somewhat-soiled neckerchief. "I'm sorry if this doesn't seem to be the right moment, but may I please borrow Miss Mirril for a moment?"

"Well..." she began, folding her paws together. "I'm quite busy at the moment and I have some important matters to discuss with Rosco so..."

"Ah." His back straightened sharply as he tilted his nose upwards, feigning a smile. "I see. Well, then I suppose I should get this over with quickly, must I?" He pulled a single ring out of his pocket, holding it between his thumb and a claw.

"Here you are," he smiled. "As payment for your services as a healer." He touched what was left of his ear, wincing at the memory.

"I'm... sorry," she replied with a half-smile. "I'm flattered, really. But I don't take payments. Here at the abbey, helping others is its own reward." The uppity mouse made a face at that, and though he recovered from that in almost an instant, it was something neither she nor Rosco missed.

"But I assure you, madam, that this ring is pure silver. Yes, it doesn't look like much, but it's far worth more than anything else you've got here. You might as well have it."

Mirril scoffed, scowling at the mercenary before a thought struck her mind. "Mister Baron," she smiled, "how much jewels and wealth do you have in your possession?"

The mouse's eyes shifted nervously between both Redwallers, wondering what to make of this. "I... don't think that I should give you that kind of information, miss. My possession is my own, and it is against all rules of hospitality to-"

She stood up briskly, eyes focused and shoulders squared.

"Now wait just a second!" Baron blocked her path. "You have no right to search my things and take them from me."

"You have no right to stay here without contributing anything," she snapped back. "Now step aside."

"Mirril-" Rosco said, before being cut off by the astounded mouse.

"But this is an abbey!" he sputtered. "The rules-"

"Guards!" she called, sidestepping him. He grabbed her wrist, pulling it upwards as she cried out and struggled.

"You lying little tart," he growled, all civility gone from his tone. "I am kind enough to compensate for your time helping these pathetic, doomed wretches and this is how you act? To try to take everything I've worked my whole life on?"

"No no no," she said quickly, wincing as he squeezed harder at her wrist. "It's not like that at all."

"Hey!" Powerful paws grabbed him by the shoulder and attempted to swing him around. Baron went with the direction, wheeling to the right and pounding the otter with a swift left hook. Rosco let go, tilting his shoulders to land another blow, but the mouse beat him to it with an upward thrust to the chin. The injured beast stumbled backwards, his back colliding with a table before he stabilized himself. Obviously, this mouse was used to brawls and fights. Dressed in those fancy, frilly clothes, it was easy to misjudge.

"Stop it, stop it, stop it!" Mirril screamed, grabbing at the mouse's coat in case he decided to charge.

"What's going on here?!" the guards demanded, running into the crowded Infirmary. Instantly, even the injured began to crawl out of their beds, anger and concern written all over their faces. Naturally, Baron hadn't hit it off well with anybeast since his initial appearance.

"Now let's not be rash," Baron warned, putting a paw on the hilt of his rapier. Mirril backed away instantly, staring at him with fear before running to Rosco, who kept a paw pressed over his reopened wound. "I was simply giving Miss Mirril some payment for her care, and without so much as a by-your-leave, she was planning to root through my belongings for more."

"No I wasn't!" she objected, her voice quivering. "It's not for me. It's to save someone. It's to save the others from last night."

"I beg your pardon?!"

"I... I have a plan," she said, pursing her lips.

* * *

The maids and children sat in the center of the group while the males watched over them protectively from the outer ring. There was not much protecting they could do, but it felt safer. Only, Jolin would've felt safer if Skipper wasn't separated from them all, beaten senseless and tied to a tree far from their area. The vermin were watchful- especially whenever anybeast tried to shift closer to the otter chieftain. More than once, they cracked a whip on her for trying to talk to him.

"Poor dears," Brook cooed, brushing the fur of the sleeping Dibbuns on her lap. And much to Jolin's annoyance, both the rabbit and squirrel seemed perfectly content. _Completely unfair, how they are just fine and the rest of us are miserable. _She cast a look to the smaller group huddled close by. _And them... how miserable they must feel._

She blinked back the tears, resting her chin on her knees as she contemplated their fate. They would be taken for slaves, wouldn't they? She had heard stories- terrible, terrible stories of the whippings and deprivation- of plagues sweeping across the population, ruthless slaughter... She buried her face in her arms.

"All right, you lot! UP!" The ottermaid looked up as the prisoners shifted obediently. The commanding rat turned around to face the other group, "And you, too! Move yourselves!" And then to Jolin's horror, he strode right up to her unconscious uncle.

"Look at you," he sneered. "Great leader of otters. Hah!" He inhaled deeply, spitting a concoction of phlegm and saliva at the otter's face before turning around. "I want everybeast up to the treeline on the double! There's going to be a show today!" The vermin gave a volley of cheers for that, but all the ottermaid could think about was how much she hated them. How dare they? How _dare_ they make a mockery of her uncle. If he were untied and in normal condition, he could beat all of them one on one- no! Three on one!

_Oh Uncle Raller._ She wanted to run up to him right now and hug him- tell him that everything was going to be okay and that she was sorry for fighting with him before. It hurt her, to see someone with so much respect and pride become reduced to this. He was the most wretched- most pitiful of them all. It was all her fault. If only she hadn't been caught, maybe he wouldn't be stuck in this mess. And maybe he wouldn't try to challenge them as Skipper. Everything went so wrong.

"Move it!" the rat ordered, kicking a poor otter to the ground. Jolin shuddered as he turned around, pacing to and fro, looking the group up and down with piercing dark eyes. "Now, which one of you is Jolin, eh? Jolin, anybeast?" She stiffened, trying to shrink away. _How did they know my name? Why do they want _me_?!_ It couldn't have been good news. The 'show' they mentioned and cheered for, it had to be something terribly bloody. And the fact that they wanted everybeast to travel back towards Redwall? It wasn't a good sign either.

But then she remembered the way Skipper called her name before he was singled out. It was so obvious now. They wanted to break him. It was common knowledge that vermin would do this thing- kill a beast's family to mess with him- to see him cry and beg for their lives. _And it will all start with me._

She shivered, not knowing what to do.

"Oh? No Jolin?" The rat gave a toothy, yellow grin. "Well, then I guess we're just gonna take one of you at random." He grabbed a young ottermaid, digging his cruel claws into her arm as she cried out. Jolin's eyes widened as she gripped her paws together. She knew she was supposed to raise her paw or step forward, but she just couldn't. Doing so would be her death warrant. _No. No. I... I have to. I have to be brave._ She bit her lip, slowly dislodging her trembling paws from each other as she willed herself to raise it high.

"Jolin? You sure?" the vermin crowed. "No Jolin?"

"I'm Jolin."

The ottermaid gasped, looking at the mid-raised paw and then back at her captors. Somebeast moved through the group, and Jolin lowered her arm. _No._

"You don't have to do this," she whispered urgently, grabbing onto Brook's paw. "Please. It's me they want."

"I have to do this," she said briskly. "Take care of Rosco for me. I love him." She pulled her arm free, leaving her husband's ring in Jolin's paw. _No. No. Brook, please. Not you too. Not for me too. Both you and Skipper..._

Brook separated herself from the prisoners, looking at the rat straight in the eye. "L-let her go. Please." He grunted smugly, shoving the hostage back to where she came from. "Good. Rope 'er up, boys!"

---

Brook was led in front of the other prisoners, a leash leading from her tethered paws and into the hold of a weasel that seemed overly fond of tripping. She clenched her fists, ignoring the irritating mud that plastered her fur. She only hoped that they would be reaching Redwall soon. At least by then, she would be able to see it one last time. And poor Jolin and the children... they would live such a wretched life as slaves. Yes, perhaps they would be better off ending their lives now instead of prolonging their suffering in chains, but if there was any hope of victory- any hope at all, then they had to keep on living. They had to.

_It's the least I can do, Rosco. I'm sorry, but you love your sister. It's my own choice. She's like a little sister to me too._

Skipper stumbled up front, face down in the mud while the vermin laughed and jeered. One even had the gall to run up and tread on him.

"Leave him alone!" she flared. _If there's anything good out of being executed, you don't have to worry about risking your life anymore. _"Leave him alone, cowards!" She didn't have any time to react before a vermin gripped her head and flung it downwards and onto his raised knee. She gasped as she thudded to the ground, blood pouring out of her nose. Paws approached her and she squeezed her eyes shut.

"Leave her," the rat commanded. "We need her alive, don't we? C'mon. Get 'er up."

She was dragged forwards by her rope, forced to stand or go through the indignity of having her belly drag against the mud. She staggered onwards, staring down her throbbing nose and at the trail of blood that dotted her path.

Time went still as she trudged on. She remembered her loving parents that passed away and how Rosco tried to comfort her, even when she yelled at him and told him he'd never know what it felt like. Well, it was foolish, that. He came to know the feeling eventually, and he didn't even snap when she paid him back with a hug. She would miss seeing him smile and hearing his voice. She would miss holding him and talking to him. She would miss all the beasts she'd ever known.

She looked up, breaking out of her daze to realize that the others had stopped behind her and that she was practically at Redwall's gates. She was there, standing all alone with the vermin that tugged mercilessly at her rope. The place never seemed so big or intimidating.

Brook looked up, relieved to be staring at the confused eyes of the one she loved.

"We made the deal," the weasel announced. "Abbess Linette spoke to Captain Havik over neutral ground. One chest full of treasure for five hostages. You have the loot?"

"That's one ottermaid right there, liar!" Meles growled, gripping the wall as if she intended to break it.

"You get the others once we know you're tellin' the truth," the weasel snarled back. "Now are ye goin' to give up the loot or not?"

_A hostage trade?!__ Oh Jolin... I didn't know. I was going to die for you. I'll get to lie back in a soft bed while you wallow in that misery.  
_

"Fine," replied the abbess, motioning at some others close by. Slowly, a large laundry basket was lowered by rope, a small chest of wedged inside it. The vermin nodded, tugging her along as he opened the chest and inspected their payment. Brook nearly gasped at the sight of all those riches and rubies and gold coins. Just where did Redwall get all this? The chest was brimming full of it.

The weasel placed an experimental paw in their loot, eyes shining as the jewels and gold trickled through his claws like water. But then he frowned. Something was amiss. A cackling growl emanated from his throat as he toppled everything down, all that treasure clinking together as it fell to the ground, revealing worthless, iron silverware below the thin layer of riches.

Everybeast held their breath.

"Thought you could pull a fast one on us, yeah?" The weasel grabbed her shoulder and tugged her backwards so that her back collided with his chest. "No deal."

"Brook!"

Something ripped at her throat and she could feel the slippery blood trickling down her neck. She gasped for air, only to choke on blood as it bubbled up her throat. The ottermaid dropped to the ground, thrashing as she gripped at her throat, staring ahead as an arrowhead sprouted out of the weasel's chest. He fell to the ground right next to her, clinging on for dear life.

_Rosco..._

"Brook! Brook! NO!"

_Rosco... I'm sorry you had to see this. I love you. I would've loved to spend my last breath by your side. _She attempted to gulp at air one last time, but the everything was fading to black._ At least... I got to see your face... one last time._

_

* * *

_

"NO! BROOK!" Rosco crumpled to his knees. "Please don't die, Brook. No. NO." She was right there, so close to the gates, and he couldn't stop them. He was too late. He tried. He tried and hoped so hard. He was a coward for not being there at the other side of the gate, for not stopping them when they took her... and she had been so brave, taking Jolin's place. _No. This has to be a dream! A nightmare. Not her. Anything but that. Anyone! Why wasn't it me? She was so much stronger than me, so why did she die? _He would never see her smile again or hear her laugh. He would never be with her again.

The abbess shouted over the clamor of screams and fury. "You monster! How dare you! How dare you, you blaggards!"

"You went back on your deal," the rat's voice boomed. "It's only fair we went back on ours. So..." he signaled to his army and some hostages were shoved forward, a haggard yet familiar otter bearing the front.

"Now _I_ have a deal. You open the gates right now, we enslave you all, and you'll all still be alive _OR_, you refuse and we kill 'em. Your choice." Rosco looked up from the floor, clenching his jaws as he furiously brushed the tears out of his eyes. Two groups of prisoners were out in the field, one of them sitting and huddled together on the side while the other was surrounded and outnumbered by a group of happy, armed vermin. Even worse was that they were out of range for the archers.

"I've been waiting to do this since Day One," the rat announced proudly, circling the kneeling lone otter. "Know who this is?" He grabbed the prisoner by the headfur, yanking it up. "No? Your old pal, Skipper o'course!"

A horrified silence followed.

"And who's the new Skipper now, I wonder, eh?" Havik continued. "I want him to make the final call."

"Go jump in a river and boil your empty head, vermin!" Meles shouted, baring her fangs.

"But there has to be a son or brother, hasn't there?" the rat continued, torturing Rosco with every single syllable. "I won't do it until a fellow otter makes the call. Open the doors or let them die. Your choice. So _who_? Show yourself, Skipper."

Rosco shook his head, clenching his fists as everybeast stared at him.

"No such thing," Linette snapped back, motioning an archer to fire. Even though the arrow embedded itself in the dirt a distance away from the rat, it still made its point.

"C'mon," the vermin jeered, backed by his comrades. "We wanna see what this great woodlander loyalty was all about. Give us an otter to make the call."

"I'm the next Skipper, you bastards," Rosco yelled. "I'll fight you. If it's a duel you want, I'll fight you for every single life you have. Fight me if you have the spine!"

"Not what I'm looking for, otter. What I want is your answer. Open the gates... or kill them. It's your choice. Their blood is in your paws now, _Skipper_."

_Uncle Raller..._ Rosco glanced at the abbess, wishing for her wisdom, wishing she could tell him she had a plan up her sleeves. There had to be a way to fix this. She would never let them into the abbey; it would spell doom for them all. But she would never let the others be harmed, would she?

But she didn't even look him in the eye. The hare only shook her head and his heart shattered. _First Brook and now Skipper... and I'm not even sure Jolin's going to die. _

"We refuse," Meles boomed, the regret tainting the heat in her voice.

"What loyalty," Havik cackled, pulling out a cruel blade. "What loyalty, eh boys? The abbey over family. That's where the new Skipper's loyalty lies now."

He yanked Raller's headfur, stretching his neck to make one clean cut. There wasn't a scream. Rosco couldn't hear any gargling like the what he heard from Brook. His uncle hit the floor, convulsing in a pool of his own blood.

---

The first thing Raller was aware of was the pain flaring up in his throat. The next thing he knew, he was coughing on his own blood, gasping for air as his back stretched out on the ground. He stared blankly at the brilliant blue sky, trying his best to drink the air as his lungs cried out in pain. He struggled, mouth agape in a silent scream as confusion took over. Everything was wrong. Screaming, wailing, spurts of red liquid, deep-throated laughter. All these sounds, floating right above his head as his struggles got weaker and weaker, his strength dying with his racing heartbeat.

_"Raller."_ A familiar, willowy voice called out to him. _"Raller..."_ There was a flash of light and suddenly, he was sitting on the riverbank, cooling his footpaws in the sluggish water. He blinked owlishly, turning his head with confusion.

"W-where..." It was his favorite spot, the place he and Aver used to meet each other. She was buried here, and even after her passing he came to visit and talk to her. It carried such fond memories.

_"Raller. It's me." _He turned his head again, a familiar face materializing out of the air right next to him.

"A-aver?" It'd been so long, and yet she looked exactly as he remembered her. She smiled tiredly and held his paw in hers. Skipper shuddered, suddenly realizing how cold she was. He looked at her, his countenance strewed with questions before she spoke.

"_We're dead, Raller."_ The news dropped to his stomach like a stone.

"Dead?" He reached up to his neck, the memory seeping through.

_"I'm taking you with me. We have to go."_

"But... what about Jolin... Rosco and Tarka?" he voiced. "They need me."

_"Raller, there's nothing we can do for them," _she reasoned. _"Once you're dead, you're dead."_

"No..." he shook his head. "No. They need me. I need to see them through this."

_"You'll watch them from the Dark Forest."_

"No!" he snapped desperately. "I need to be there so that they know I'm with them. They need to _know_ that I am watching them."

_"But you can't."_

"WHY not?"

_"You just can't," _she replied, her grey eyes shining with sympathy. He missed those eyes. _"You don't have what Martin has... that thing that Keetch has right now."_

"Keetch," Skipper snorted, giving the water a furious kick. "That traitor?"

_"He's going to do good in this world... and in the next generation."_

"He's evil."

_"He's not."_

Skipper jerked his footpaws out of the water, scooting back as he stared at her with disbelief. "Aver... how can you say that? Don't y'remember what they did to you? Those vermin... they were horrible. They... I watched from behind the trees..." His vision blurred with tears. He had hidden this pain from everybeast else, but she was here now. She was back with him and she could hold him as he opened up.

"We were young and we were in love. I came to propose to you, _right here_," he pointed straight down at the ground to make his point. "I came, and I saw your body, stab wound at your belly. You were dead, but they did the most defiling things to it..." He rubbed the tears off his face, not daring to look her in the eye. No. He was too ashamed.

"So sick... And all I could do," he continued, his voice growing heavy with every breath, "was watch. I was so scared. I was all alone and I couldn't- couldn't find the courage to defend your body and avenge you. Bye the time I came back with others, they were gone and you... I could barely recognize your face, Aver."

She didn't say anything. She didn't need to. Instead, the ottermaid reached up and wrapped her arms around his neck, and although cold, the memories flooded in and wrapped him in a warmth that he could barely remember.

"I tried... I tried so hard to find them- to make them pay for what they did." All those vermin he'd passed, the travelers barely got a scream in before he'd gutted them. For the tribes and colonies, he'd shown no mercy either, killing every fighter and burning down the homes, mothers and children still inside- he didn't have to see their faces that way. "I traveled all over Mossflower lookin' for them, but I could never ever find them. I couldn't stop until I found them."

_"But you did, Raller,_ she sniffled, tears falling on his shoulder as he embraced her. _"You killed them not long after my death, but you couldn't see it. You couldn't stop. It wasn't just them you were angry about. You were angry with yourself, you hated your mistake and you took it out on others that had nothing to do with it. You were in so much pain and there was no way for me to tell you to stop."_

"I... killed them?" The sounds of screaming children flooded his ears, the image of crows feasting on bodies, charred remains of villages, tethering bodies to stones and tossing them into a river. And this whole time, his mad search was accomplished?

_"Raller, you have to let your hatred go. The fact that you never talked to anybeast about it once the deed was done shows that some part of you know that it was wrong."_

"Most of them deserved it. In fact, they all deserved it."

_"You didn't give them a chance."_

"How could I, after all the generations of suffering? After seeing what they did to you... I had nightmares about it- still do."

_"What you did was out of protection and out of rage, both at the same time, Raller. You can't justify that rage on somebeast else- nor can you kill for no reason. Don't you see? Cubs died- survivors remembered, and now they'll remember you the same way you remembered my killers. You can't fight this way."_

"But..." The words struck him like an arrow, and now her tears were twisting the shaft into his heart. "I..." The screamings and wailings echoed in his head, all the soot stifling his breathing, the restlessness in himself every night after a kill. He'd never felt happy about it. Never felt satisfied. Never ever. He'd cried the first time he'd taken a life, but the sensation became numbed. He didn't care anymore. He just killed out of her memory and anger at her death, but after that, there was emptiness- like he'd done nothing.

"I didn't know," he choked out, resting his head on her shoulder. To do all that, and then come home and hug Jolin, play with Rosco, tuck Tarka into bed... what was he doing? What was he pursuing? And all those children he'd killed? Their eyes haunted him now. They didn't deserve to die. They didn't get a chance in life. Each time he killed one, he pictured his family waiting for him back home. She was right. Some part of him knew it was wrong, but he went on with it anyways. He had cut down so many innocent lives.

He said nothing, but the way he clenched his teeth said everything.

_"It's alright,"_ she hushed. _"It's all over. You're at peace now_." She let go of him, standing up and offering a paw. Slowly, their place dissolved to nothingness, leaving them in a dark, blank space with a light up ahead.

_"Let's go to the Dark Forest,"_ she said warmly._ "Everyone's waiting."_

"But... what about the holt? Jolin's with those vermin, Tarka and Rosco are all alone, Brink is out there, Brook is..."

_"Dead,"_ she finished. _"She died just before you."_

Silence.

"But Rosco..." He buried his face in his paws. "Oh no... no. Not him. Not him too. It happened to him too."

_"Raller," _Aver comforted, placing a gentle paw on his cheek. _"You tried your best. You can't do everything. The most you can do now, is to come with me. Come with me and watch he and the others grow into such strong and loving creatures. Watch them have children and live happy lives as they grow old with their friends and family. Listen to them as they speak warmly about your memories. You need to be there for them, whether they know it or not."_

He hesitated, slowly reaching his paw forward until it met hers. The light ahead had never looked so bright.

* * *

**I hope you are all happy at this point. I felt for Skipper so much... but the people have spoken. They wanted him dead. *sigh* And as for those vermin doing the 'most defiling' thing, just use her imagination. If you think the worst you can do to a dead body would be to cut it up, maybe. Draw mustaches with magic marker? Sure. But just remember: If anything terribly disturbing comes across your mind, it's your fault for thinking about it, since I was completely vague. :) (just please don't share your thoughts on the reviews... you'll scar people, I think)**

**And what is up with me and all these failed marriages in my stories?! This must be a deep psychological thing that's going on within my subconscious. Hm. I'll have to look up on that to make sure that I won't have an emotional/mental break-down if I ever get a proposal... :/**

﻿ 


	55. Into the Abyss

**And here I am again! :) OK, real quick I'd like to say that I'm sorry about all the delays and it's just been crazy in my life. Second of all, I'd like to thank all the reviewers: Fwirl of Redwall, Jarrtail, Quavera Tava, Firehawk, Adder of the Pit, DPBCLover, SgtHolton, DGShadowChocolate, and Ai-Am-Airan.**

**Another thing: I'm actually quite happy with what will soon unfold in this chapter... and in Guise later on. Also, from now on I'm going to stick with shorter chapters- somewhere alone the line of 4,000 words. I know some of you would be disappointed, but I think the quality would be much better if I narrow the scope just a little bit. ^^;**

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**Into the Abyss**

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After walking for three days, Keetch never thought he'd see the end of these tiring woods- or Veil's cynical chattering. And it was mostly a one-way conversation. After all, who knew what Brink would say if he saw his companion talking to thin air? As helpful as he was in the past, Keetch had hoped that the apparition would've melted away in an instant, but the ferret seemed to enjoy the company. He especially enjoyed talking about how they were both exiles of Redwall, but the farther and farther they got, the fox noticed that Veil appeared less and less often. Perhaps the ferret's soul was affixed to the abbey? Places full of sadness and anger were what tethered these apparitions to the living world.

He'd never seen one, but Grack had told him of the horde of spirits and poltergeists she'd encountered- lost, hating, lonely spirits. She'd made them sound so ghastly, but at least Veil seemed much milder. Keetch pondered the ferret's past. He was obviously bitter about his death and at Redwall itself. But even if he had the courage to ask, Veil was nowhere in sight. And if he was here, the fox might've asked where the hell he was rather than anything else.

The trees here weren't rooted to the ground, standing regal and tall. Here, they were like sticks stabbed into mud, their branches thick and twisted into themselves like gnarled fingers. Keetch hesitated at the divide between the summer forest and the woods of damp, leafless trees. The fox frowned, tracing a claw along a smooth patch of charred bark.

"What happened to this place?"

"Burned it," Brink replied with a shrug. "About a season ago a bunch of us otters came here to end those mud-sucking toads. Burned their eggs and all."

_All of them? _It wasn't impossible, and Skipper certainly did seem the type to carry out the deed, and yet... it seemed unlikely.

"We shouldn't worry about them, though," the otter said, answering Keetch's thoughts. "We stormed th' place, burning everything to crisp. We shouldn't have a problem."

"Are you sure?"

"Trust me," Brink said, already setting foot in that foul place. "I doubt that any of those Greymorg soldiers would dare to come anyplace that looks like this. We'll be a lot safer here."

"And those toads, those _things_, are you certain they're all gone?"

"Dead as wood."

Keetch sighed and nodded, stepping into the crowd of skeletal branches.

_Hallowed ground._

The fox snapped his head back, eyes scanning the wall of lush trees. No sign of the ferret. Hallowed ground would've explained why the spirit appeared less and less, but how was such a dastardly, grim place marked as sacred? Whatever this place was, it might have been something beautiful or historical in some very distant past.

"Aren't you coming?" Keetch flinched at the volume, hissing between his teeth in warning, though Brink simply shrugged it off and swaggered onward.

The first few steps were the hardest, planting his footpaws into the squelching mud, wrinkling his nose as his ankles got sucked down. All the while, he would glance one way and swear he'd seen a shadow or a face somewhere, but it was just a flitting image. Nevertheless, it made his hackles stand on end. Everywhere had a cold draft, everywhere the earth shifted beneath his paws no matter how sturdy the ground looked. Brink, however, hardly let the bothersome obstacles get in his way. He was always at the front, hacking away at reeds and vines.

It made Keetch wonder if Brink ever even had a sense of danger.

"I still don't like this place," he muttered, following doggedly after his companion.

"Well, _marm_, too late for that now."

"I can feel it everywhere. The air feels heavy."

Brink merely snorted at the statement, turning around and storing that bit of information for later.

"I still don't like this place..."

"Yeah, yeah. We'll get there soon, so keep your tail..." Brink must've heard something, and Keetch sensed the tension in the woodlander's stance. The fox froze immediately, his line of sight flicking between the woods and the the sword at the otter's hip. Slowly, the vermin mirrored his movements, letting his paw slowly slide towards the hilt. He licked his lips nervously, ears swiveling as Brink motioned him to stay low.

Keetch did all he could do, allowing himself to crouch right behind some withered fern. And carefully, the faintest shadows began to stir, materializing out of the gloom to reveal bulging eyes and throats, slimy skin, and broad mouths. The first time he saw them, Keetch had found their look to be simply hungry. Now it looked like a mixture of hunger and scathing hatred.

"Yeah?" The woodlander drew his blade, his mouth twisted in a grin bordering on revulsion. "You want to have another go?"

There must've been a score of them, all of them slowly advancing in a loose circle. Brink squared his shoulders and pointed his sword directly at the biggest salamander. "Keetch," he said slowly, monitoring the progress of the slimy muck-creatures, "Keetch, if you can, make sure you run the hell out of here. Run so fast that your tail can't catch up. I'll be right behind, so just run that way." He cocked his head to a gap in the wall of creatures. "It's the only way."

Keetch nodded, noticing how the monsters picked up the hint and slowly started to close in on their only escape.

"I TOLD YOU TO RUN!" That snapped the fox out of his daze.

Keetch dashed forward, baring his fangs as menacingly as he could while the mud sucked his run down to something more of a tottering gait. He was aware of everything: how the enemies' muscles tensed under their warted skin, the way Brink clenched his hilt in his palm, the way the toads kept licking hungrily at the corner of their mouths and eyes. But not once did he recall how their plump shape hid their true speed.

It happened all so fast. The very second Keetch recognized the poise for a leap, he drew his sword a moment too late and a rushing blow rammed into his chest. The fox screamed as he landed back to the ground, the massive toad right on top of him.

"Keetch!" _It can't work the last time we were here._

A wrenching feeling was working up the veins of his neck. His head felt heavy- locked.

_I haven't even gotten stronger._

Keetch was suddenly aware of the toothless maw clamped around his head, yanking upwards violently. He screamed again, his paws empty and clenched as he pounded hard against the pudgy mass.

_No!_

"Keetch! Get up! Get off of him, you gutless bastards!"

Already he could feel the mud sink as more toads and slimy cowards crowded around their new prey. Was this how far it was going to come? Is this their fate? Was this as far as his potential and powers could come?

_"Not in the least."_

_Keetch blinked and found himself floating in a dark and empty space, the atmosphere heavy as if he was submerged in water. It wasn't that the pain or any of his strength was gone immediately. More like that it just slipped off and to the darkness. The fox blinked lazily and lifted his head, his eyes taking stock of the white orbs floating upwards. There was no telling where they came from in this mysterious abyss._

_"I was so hoping I would meet with you," a deep voice echoed._

_"W-who?" There was nobody, but if anything, the white orbs stilled and reddened, signaling a malicious presence. "...Veil?"_

_"Wrong." Keetch whirled as fast as this pressurized atmosphere would allow him. It was a large figure dressed in a scarlet and gold robe to accentuate his rich, blood-red fur. He stood straight and tall, his paws tucked casually in his pockets, a secretive smirk set on his lips._

_"Vulpuz." The forbidden name spilled off the seer's tongue before he could think. The spirit shrugged and took a stride, but even with just one step, he was suddenly nose-to-nose with Keetch, staring down at him with slitted, orange eyes. Keetch flinched, some will stirring within him to hold the gaze for as long as he could. It seemed to last a good while, Vulpuz taking his time to take stock of his new "guest."_

_It must've been a minute or two, because right when Keetch was sure he was going to back down the spirit's eyes widened and an unexplainable pain exploded in the back of his mind. The smaller fox screamed, staggering away and holding his head between his paws. His mind was awhirl with scenes of death and destruction- so much blood, screaming, vermin and woodlander alike, wretched paws reaching out for a savior, so many eyes stretched wide in pleading fear, mouths agape in a cry filled with the purest of despair._

_The screamings stopped and Keetch found himself on his knees, his paws pressed so hard against his skull he thought it would shatter. He looked down, panting and recovering whatever breath he could before he felt a presence above him. He looked up, quaking at the sight of the huge fox that stared down at him with a disturbing level of nonchalance. Slowly, the fox pulled his a paw out of his pocket and Keetch shut his eyes and turned away, preparing himself for more pain._

_One second. Two seconds. _

_He opened his eyes and cautiously lifted his head. The fox was still standing over him, a claw curled around his chin thoughtfully as he grinned to himself, revealing white, unnaturally long, curved, sharp fangs. Keetch couldn't help but utter a small cry of fear as he noticed that there were two rows of those chiseled teeth in each jaw._

_"Well this position is a lot more appropriate for a god and his underling, don't you agree?" Keetch kept his mouth politely shut while the robed figure continued. "So... you're in interesting one. I can honestly say I quite like you." _

_Silence._

_"You know, you're right. Grack is an old nag and while I _severely_ disapproved of some of your decisions... I think you at least shook some things up. Made things... fun."_

_Keetch remained speechless, which obviously irked his host._

_"And you're very boring when you're scared shitless. You'd better say something before I actually pluck your soul from this safe little place and let the toads rip your innards out. You know that they like to slurp it right out of you while you're still alive."_

_"The toads!" Keetch's mind gave a little jolt. "Then Brink..."_

_"Is still fine..._ alive_, anyways," Vulpuz finished with some distaste. "Any better questions?"  
_

_"No milord."_

_"None at all? Well that's strange," the god said to himself. "Usually my seers grovel and beg for me to impart wisdom on their behalf."_

_Keetch bowed his head. "M-m-milord, I apologize for my... ungrateful behavior... but I really must go. If I stay here too long I'm certain that my body would be mutilated and my companion would be killed."_

_"Well say no more," Vulpuz said with a shrug. "You're dismissed. Considering that you're going to be mauled to death, I suppose I would see you very soon anyways."_

_"Then why'd you bring me here?" Keetch asked before clamping his mouth shut._

_"_Now_ we're getting to the point," Vulpuz said, tucking his paws back in his pockets. "You see, I have a little proposition for you, Keetch. How would you like to depart this place with my power, eh?"_

_"M-milord?" Now Keetch knew he was treading on much thinner ice than before. Grack had told him of the powers of the spirit and how the deals of such beings were always kept, but could always be twisted. Whatever happens, he had to be careful.  
_

_"Just a little inkling of my strength, but that's certainly nothing to sneeze at. Certainly enough to get you out of this little spot of trouble you have with the toads and lizards, after all. Just a little temporary gift."_

_"And what do you want in return?" Keetch asked. Now was the dangerous part._

_"Not much... just the one thing that you hold dearest to your heart. The one thing you care most about than anything else."_

_"And what would that be?"_

_Vulpuz shrugged. "Now Keetch, don't you know your own soul?"_

_"It's not..."_

_"Well it's certainly not that pathetic bunny or that otter, that's for certain. I can't directly take any form of life. It's against the rules. But to have you kill a loved one to trade spots in the Netherworld, I can do." The spirit paused, and then barked out laughter. "Ha! The look on your face! But, I know you wouldn't do it."_

_"Even to trade spots with a toad?"_

_"Can't do that either." He held both paws up, tilting one up and the other down to motion a scale. "Equivalent exchange- your soul for something you hold for about the equal value."_

_"I see..."_

_"So what do you say?" He whirled his paw in the air, a glass of blood materializing in his black-tipped claws. "Just a little sip. Whatever it is that I'm taking away from you, it won't go away without a trace. I'll just take a little bit- the same amount as what you drink from this glass." The seer narrowed his eyes, staring intently at the offering._

_"You might as well. I don't see how you'll survive this swamp any other way. Try it." Slowly, with both shaking paws, Keetch took the glass out of the other fox's grasp. He grinned his venomous grin.  
_

_"Good. Now drink what you need, and remember- this is _temporary_."_

_"And this should get _us_- Brink and I, out of this mess with the toads, am I correct?"_

_"Yes yes," Vulpuz sighed. "Sometimes your loyalty can be interesting, Keetch, but it can get quite tiresome."_

_"And when I drink some of this, I don't _completely_ surrender whatever it is that you're taking from me?" _

_"Yes, now drink up."_

_Keetch raised the glass to his lips, just realizing how small and fragile the container seemed. The lingering smell of blood and iron infiltrated his nostrils, making him all-too aware of what he was doing- striking a deal with the lord of the Underworld himself. He held his breath and took a full sip. It was somehow sweet and warm in his mouth and he smiled a little at the pleasant surprise. But then he swallowed, the liquid draining down his throat, leaving a bitter, numbing sensation that left his tongue parched. Keetch must've made a face, for the spirit erupted in a round of deep-throated laughter._

_Slowly, the atmosphere began to change. The air didn't feel so heavy and thick. The orbs of light began to turn to its original white and float to the sky- wherever it was. And most of all, the older fox was fading, spiraling away into the abyss. _

_"Oh. Almost forgot," Vulpuz said, digging back into his pockets and producing something shiny. "You might need to use this later on." With a flick of the wrist, the tiny object was expertly tossed, plopping smack in the center of Keetch's palms. It was a rusty, dull, iron-cast key with a simple notched edge. _

_"But..." Keetch raised his head to ask another question, but there was nothing but the lonely blankness._

"KEETCH!" The fox's eyes snapped open to register the slimy folds of skin smothering his muzzle. He growled, flexing his claws and jabbing straight up, feeling the tips of his claws puncture the soft flesh under the toad's throat. Blood trickled down his arm, and Keetch shuddered. Whatever he had done, he'd never imagine that he'd be capable of doing something like that. Quickly, he withdrew his arm, kicking the dying beast off of him and getting on all fours, quickly spotting his sword just a little out of reach.

He reached for it when he cried out in pain, feeling something massive crush at his tail. He spun around, his claws gouging at the creature's eyes. He could feel the bulge of the eyeball the moment he touched the creature. He could even clearly hear the anguished hiss of pain as the lizard collapsed to the ground, writhing before a toad finished its life with a careless step on the neck.

The fox quickly reached behind, grabbing at the hilt of the sword and swinging it overhead, cleaving a toad's skull as if it was firewood. It was all so simple, he had no idea why he'd ever thought it was hard. Another toad was speeding to him on all four fat legs while another approached from the opposite direction and a third catching up at the same pace. The fox merely sidestepped the first two, allowing them to wrestle each other in confusion as he gutted the third.

It was strange, how everything seemed to happen so slowly. Everything was so readable- the enemies' muscle tension, the look in their eyes- their every move. Why was it so hard before? Why was Brink always so good at this and never him?

Keetch grabbed his medicine case from the ground, spinning so that the wooden box corner caught a toad right in the middle of its face. Brink was holding his own, but he was quickly tiring. For once, the role of hero would have to be swapped.

"Brink!" Keetch ran up to the otter, shoving his sword point through a soft throat and slicing through another. He'd never been this fast. Even without the injury to his leg he was never known this kind of speed.

"Keetch! Are y'alright?" he asked between ragged breaths before snatching him by the sleeve. "Quick. We have to get out of here somehow."

"Right." Brink's eyes widened with surprise as Keetch ran ahead of him, yanking him along by the elbow, practically dragging him along. "You said you killed them all, huh?" Keetch asked, as he leaped over the carcass of a salamander.

"I thought I did!" the woodlander answered defensively. "And there is a lot less here than there were the first time I came."

"I don't know why you always like to go against my advice," Keetch replied tersely, stopping only to plunge his knife through shoulder of a salamander, silencing its screams with a final stoke.

"I didn't know those damn mud-suckers are still alive!" Brink argued. "And since when were you so..."

"Keep moving," Keetch grunted, yanking the breathless otter the other direction.

"Look out!" Brink warned, but the fox had already noticed the toad that was about to land on them. In one swift motion that Brink couldn't comprehend, the fox had shoved the otter down, spinning in a circle and stabbing through the ribs. The impact knocked the toad clear off course, its dying croak one of surprise. Brink got up from the mud, coughing up the awful gunk in his throat before a set of surprisingly strong paws hauled him up and pulled him along.

Brink struggled to regain his footing, but each time his paws would be sucked under the mud and he kept looking back to see another wave of monsters chasing close behind. Suddenly Keetch stopped, practically allowing Brink to stumble over some roots and fall face-first into the ground.

"What?!" he sputtered, quickly getting back to his footpaws.

"It's a ledge of mud," Keetch said through gritted teeth. "It's too high for us to climb." Sure enough, the vermin was right. Blocking their path to freedom was a large wall of crumbling mud and fern that stretched more than triple their height.

"What now?" Brink panted, facing the oncoming enemy and holding his sword in both paws. Keetch narrowed his eyes, showing his fangs as he hefted his own sword.

"This isn't over. It _cannot_ be over this way."

Brink swallowed, his mouth set in a half-grin, half-grimace. "Let's see who lasts longest."

"This isn't a game," Keetch answered evenly, though ever fiber of muscle in his body showed the crackling panic coursing through his body.

_SSsssssssh-thunk!_

An arrow embedded itself in a toad's skull, demanding everybeasts' attention.

Brink blinked at the archer in the trees. "...You."

"Yes it's me, now go!" Sarrow ordered, loosing another arrow on a monster.

"But the ledge-"

_Thwap!_

An arrow lodged itself in the face of the ledge.

"Are you crazy?!" Brink demanded. "Those mud-suckers are over th-"

_Thwap!_

Another arrow stuck itself diagonally from the last one, followed by another.

"Brink, Keetch," Sarrow called shrilly from her position. "It's a ladder! Climb the arrows up!"

"Dammit all," Brink cursed as he raced back to the ledge. He grabbed the first arrow, digging his claws into the earth to stabilize himself as he set his paw on top of it. He swore the arrow shifted under his weight, but he quickly placed his footpaw in the next one.

"Keetch," he called down as he grabbed hold of the third arrow. "The arrow is loose! And Sarrow, we need more!"

"I know!" she shouted, followed by another arrow that landed right above his head. Four more came in succession, each one lined perfectly. Brink clawed himself up, the mud threatening to give way and allow him to slip back down to the bottom. Nevertheless, the otter made sure he reached the top.

"Keetch!" he called down, leaning over and reaching a paw out to his friend. "Grab on!" Keetch raised his paw up, his head constantly turning back and forth between the dangling arm and the group of toads headed his way. Suddenly the arrow he was holding on to gave way, nearly sending him back down to the floor and into his inevitable doom. The fox dug his claws into the wall, clinging onto it like a flea.

"Reach!" Keetch looked up and then back down at the toads clamoring for their prize. He must've felt the wall begin to give way, for he flinched and pulled himself in so that his stomach rubbed against the earth.

"Keetch, just jump, dammit!" The fox obeyed, coiling his legs and springing up, barely catching hold of Brink's paw. The otter dipped forward, straining against the added weight as the fox struggled to pull himself to safety. "I've got'cha!" Brink said reassuringly as he hauled him up. However, when the fox's arm went over the ledge, his first word wasn't anything similar to "thank you."

"Behind!" Keetch gasped. The otter turned around, releasing his friend's paw to deal with the creature coming his way.

"Here too?!" he grunted as he stabbed through the gut. Another one was coming and Keetch was busy clawing his way to safety. "Sarrow!" Brink called. Instantly, a red blur zipped through the tree branches and skidded right onto the ledge, an arrow quickly notched into place.

_Thwap!_

The arrowhead made its mark, but right when the toad fell, two more had arrived to take its place.

"There're too many of them," Brink announced.

"Why'd you dunderheads even come here in the first place?!" the squirrel shouted, releasing another arrow. It hit a lizard between the eyes, its legs giving a violent jerk as they gave out from under it.

Keetch shook his head. For some reason his head was throbbing and a pain was flaring up in his chest. His mouth felt dry and he felt so fatigued, he just wanted to lie down and close his eyes. He didn't understand. When Vulpuz said that the strength was temporary, he didn't think it would last such a short time.

_"Need more?" The fox's head appeared in the haze of his mind, his malicious grin seeming to set in a snarl. "You can drink deeper this time."_

"Keetch! Keetch, what's wrong?" The image of Vulpuz disappeared and he was suddenly aware of an arm propping him up. He tried to blink awake, but the darkness didn't clear. He wanted to speak out, but his tongue wouldn't obey him. _What...?_ "Sarrow, something's wrong with him." He felt his arm being flung around the shoulders of another beast.

"Then we're going to have to make a run for it- over there! Come on!"

"Of all times to black out, you have the worst timing, fox!" Brink shouted, slowing down to slice at another toad. They seemed to sprout from everywhere, their large glassy eyes raising from the surfaces of water and mist. They must've hidden a cache of eggs somewhere. They were certain they killed their King Toad, but at least a hundred of his children still remained. They were cowards- so easy to kill when outnumbered. They scattered and croaked when the otters stormed the place, squealing some noise when they caught fire. Brink never thought they could possibly make a sound like that.

"There!" Sarrow grunted. "There's a gorge there!" They skidded to a halt, looking between the murky water below and the army of toads quickly approaching. The other side was too far to jump, but they couldn't turn back.

"Those things can swim!" Brink protested.

"We have no choice." Sarrow didn't say anymore before she jumped in. The water was warm and it filled her ears and nose painfully. She opened her eyes, seeing nothing but murk. She stayed still for a while, hoping her body could bob up to the surface, but she felt she was drifting in space, being sucked down, down, down. She panicked, kicking and clawing at the water, willing herself not to scream.

A paw grabbed hold of her and she felt something encircle around her waist. She screamed right then, feeling air bubbles rushing against her face. And then they surfaced, gasping for breath and sputtering.

"Stupid tree rat!" Brink hissed, releasing her to hold Keetch's head above the water.

_Plop! Plop! Splash!_

The squirrelmaid squeaked at the toads that fell into the stagnant water, mud sleeking their bodies and their long hind legs kicking furiously at it, propelling them closer and closer to their prey.

"Oh Martin help us," she whispered, realizing that her bow was still clenched in her paws. She raised in protectively in front of them, wondering what good it would do. Even with knives attached at the ends, it would be a struggle to strike while keeping her head afloat, and her limbs were already tiring.

"Did you come alone?" Brink asked. Sarrow didn't say anything, but merely shuddered and drew ragged breaths as she steadied her weapon. "Did you come ALONE?!" he demanded again.

"Yes, yes I did!" she shouted back in a high voice.

The trio pressed themselves against the wall, panting as they watched their doom approach them. In all his dangers, Brink had always felt that there was just another corner to turn if he fought long enough- that there was some other plan to go with- but there was nothing. Not this time. Yes, Sarrow's sudden appearance lifted his heart, but that clearly wasn't enough.

The toads were quickly gaining, the slippery salamanders whipping through water while the lizards patiently flicked their tongues out at the sight. With one arm, Brink pointed his sword at them, with another, he held the unconscious fox. But while he was focusing on the oncoming attack, he felt the lightest tug on Keetch, a little ripple of water signifying its presence. Curiously, it happened again before Brink registered.

"Dammit, they're below us!"

Suddenly, Keetch was yanked out of his paws, water enveloping the fox's face as he was pulled under.

"NO!" The otter dove right in, pedaling his arms forward with all his might, trying to see past the muddy water, but nothing was there. _No. Taken right from under me..._

Something grabbed onto his neck. He spun in the water, trying to dislodge the creature, but it held fast. With one paw, he grabbed onto his attacker, digging his claws into its skin as much as he could. But the moment the creature's grip loosened, another had latched onto his arm, and then another was at his leg. The otter yelled, feeling the air bubbles escaping his lungs and rushing up to the surface. Already the added weight was forcing him to spiral down, down, down, into this endless abyss.

He struggled, kicking and squirming, trying to get rid himself of the parasites dragging him under, but more and more appeared, all of them grabbing onto his limbs and rendering him motionless. He kept spiraling downward, his lungs feeling like they were going to collapse and the pressure of the deep crushing his head. It was so dark, he couldn't even tell if he'd blacked out or if he was already dead.

* * *

**Now the Vulpuz thing was a tad bit impulsive, but I think it could turn things a little interesting. Ok, so sorry for the delay in writing and I'll be sure to update sometime later. Man, I hate college. And yes, if I haven't yet reviewed a story, I will catch up to it later- I will!**


	56. Coming of the Saviors

**It. Has. Been. FOREVER!!!**

**And don't worry about the giant chapter length. Most of that is author note stuff at the bottom. ^^;  
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**So, now I'm going back to updating and I apologize for the months of inactivity lately. I had some moments of writer's block, distractedness, and... let's just say that I stopped writing after my first calculus midterm... :/ **

**(the devil invented math!)**

**So now here it is. I'm not very sure of this chapter. I kind of hate it, to tell you the truth. Everything here just seems so... explicit and melodramatic to me, but I really felt like I had to update ASAP so here it is. Not the best return for me, I'm afraid. **

**So special thanks to all who reviewed last time: Siran 774, Flipside Remix, Quavera Tava, Flash Stripes, Fwirl of Redwall, Jarrtail, Sanfrasm, Red Squirrel Writer, Ai-Am-Airan, Martin the Warrior of Redwall, Foeseeker, Lyrca, Dancing Sage, DgShadowChocolate, and Quinlan of Redwall.**

**I'm really really really really really *takes deep breath* really really sorry for not updating at all- or even replying to some of your fantastic reviews guys, but I'll get right back to that. Promise. Oh, and I'll review all the fantastic stories I've fallen behind on. I'm working on that right now. Geez, it seems that my procrastination has spread from school and chores and to fanfiction! :( **

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**Coming of the Saviors**

(and as you can see from my suckish chapter titles, some things never change :P )

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There were just too many of them and they were all so heavy. He couldn't move. Couldn't fight them in this murk.

The more he spiraled down, the more the air was crushed out of his lungs. Brink clenched his teeth, refraining himself from gasping for the air so far away from him. Somewhere up there Sarrow was fighting against the mob of toads, and somewhere further down below Keetch was being ripped to shreds. Already he could feel his muscles going limp as all strength seeped from his limbs. All awareness ebbed from his mind.

_"Cora! Cora!" He blinked the stinging water from his eyes, trying to focus his sight on the head that constantly dipped into the water before another wave enveloped her. Every time that happened he was afraid her head wouldn't resurface. Every time that happened she stayed down longer._

_"Cora, I'm coming!" He wasn't sure he heard her past the cold wind and the waves beating against their tiny bodies. His sister flapped her arms against the water, trying her hardest to keep herself afloat before another foamy wave crashed over her head. It continued its path of destruction, dragging Brink under and pushing him back. He felt himself tumble in the water, spinning and spinning until he had no sense of direction. Which was up? Which was down? Where was Cora?_

_His elbow hit the sand and he pushed himself off the seabed and towards air. He could swear he could hear her crying. His head broke water just as she was sinking. He surged forward in one final burst of energy, diving under to grab at her wrist and tug her back to the surface. _

_She was so exhausted, she couldn't even help at all as he held her head above the water. And then Brink realized just how tired he was. His arms could hardly move and his lungs burned and his entire body just felt numb. He held onto her tighter as he forced his legs to kick. A wave pummeled the back of his head, forcing them both back under. He rose again, sputtering as he made sure Cora could still breathe. _

_The cruel force pushed them under again, the salty water filling their nostrils and burning their eyes. The cub berated himself inwardly as he fought to swim again. He shouldn't have called her a crybaby. He shouldn't have dared her to swim out here. Momma and Poppa always drilled it into his head never to swim on a stormy day. He held tighter to her, terrified that the current would pull her away._

_And then strong paws reached down, grabbing his arm and hauling him up with tiny little Cora in tow._

He gasped and coughed, the air quickly swelling his lungs. The otter turned on his knees, retching up the filthy water. A part of him wanted so badly to collapse and rest, but the company here wouldn't allow it. It was dark, but he could still feel the creatures encircling him, their large webbed feet sinking into the mud and their muted croaking echoing in the damp atmosphere.

"Get back!" he snarled. His fur bristled, daring them to give it their best shot, but nobeast moved.

_Splash!_

Brink whirled around, but here in this blackness he couldn't tell anything. All he could hear was something moving in water and a gasping, sputtering noise. Whatever it was, it sounded familiar.

"Sarrow?" _She's here, so where's Keetch? _He reached forward, trying to find her arm. His paw grazed some wet, smooth skin and he pulled back. At that same moment, there was movement and all the toads started crowding around. Brink shouted something obscene, bracing himself on an attack of some sort as they all washed over them. Bald fingers touched his face, grabbed his arm, felt his fur. He kicked and punched, shouting curses at them as the hoard croaked in some chattery way and pressed him against the wall, their webbed paws tugging at his clothes and feeling every single inch of him- even so far as to stretch his mouth open to inspect his teeth, testing what his eyelids felt like or how deep his nostrils were.

"Sarrow!" he called, hoping she was conscious. "Sarrow, fight back! We have to fight ba-a--_ack_!" Another slimy paw filled his mouth, muffling his voice. It forced itself further in, its worm-like appendages tickling the insides of his cheeks and trying to crawl into the back of his throat. Brink's eyes watered as he gagged, his body convulsing as he tried to fight against the fingers that were now holding his jaws from snapping together.

Finally, the arm withdrew, letting him retch out whatever was left in his system. He was peeled off the muddy wall, still kicking and screaming as they moved him out, pushing him and prodding him and still inspecting him with their fingers all at the same time. Brink didn't know what he was doing or where he was going, but they all seemed to be urging him in the same direction. And again, they pushed him against the wall, each of them taking their turns to touch him and weigh his tail in their disgusting paws and tug at his whiskers and ears.

And somewhere close by he could hear Sarrow whimpering and Keetch's voice protesting. And then slowly, the crowd seemed to trickle out as they lost interest, allowing the torture to gradually become less painful and humiliating. There was no way to tell time, but when the last group parted, it felt like an entire day. Brink slumped down, trying to recover from the shock and register what the hell was going on. They should've been eaten by now. They should've been dead but now they were left all alone in the dark.

"You all alright?" he rasped.

"Y-yeah," the squirrelmaid replied shakily while Keetch heaved a long sigh. There was a scratching noise and they snapped back to attention, bracing themselves for another round of torture. But rather, the sound didn't come any closer or become louder.

"What is that?" Keetch whispered softly, as if afraid his voice would bring them all crawling back for more.

"It sounds like they're digging..." the squirrel replied, as she shuffled closer to the otter. "I don't get it. What do they want us for?"

"I don't know but... what the hell was that?! What happened?"

"You went under," Sarrow said. He imagined her shaking her head and curling her sopping tail around her cold body. "I just caught a glimpse of them, but they looked pale and- and a lot smaller than the toads we were running from."

"Great!" he hissed. "Just great! That means that we were caught by the midget toads and we get to be handed over to their Mommies and Daddies!" He rose to his paws, trudging in the general direction they all came from. He didn't have to walk far before he hit a muddy wall. He cursed, paws ripping at the loose earth.

"Hey!" he called to them. "Help me with this!" But just when he had a fist punched to the other side he felt something curl around his wrist. Brink shouted and tried to tug back, but the creature held fast. For all he knew, this toad was probably drooling over his claws- opening its mouth to gobble up his entire paw. But then it pushed his paw back, sending Brink staggering backwards as the wall crumbled. Even if he charged forward right then, it wouldn't have made a difference, for a heavy shower of mud pelted him, forcing him to step back as the wall was quickly repaired.

"Dammit, they're like moles!" he seethed, pacing around and feeling around the walls. _Sturdy. Sturdy. Sturdy._ Everywhere else was hard-packed and their only possible exit was heavily guarded. Weaponless, sightless, and clueless, what were they to do?

"So what do they want?" Sarrow sniffled. "We're obviously captives for something... probably a feast..."

"I'll make sure to choke them on my way down their throats," the otter muttered as he took a seat. "So is anyone injured?"

"No," Sarrow replied. Even though he couldn't see, Brink was sure she was crying. "No..."

"Keetch? What about you?"

"I'm... I'm fine," the fox replied. Of all of them, he seemed the least affected- probably still in shock or something. "Just a few bruises and cuts."

"Same here," Brink grunted. "Nothing broken." Except for Sarrow crying to herself, everything was silent.

"I miss my Mom and Da," she sniffled. "They would've noticed I was gone by now."

"Then what are you doing here?" the otter asked gently. "How'd you get out of the abbey? How'd you find us?"

"I don't know," she replied between sobs. "It's stupid."

"Well _how_?"

She muttered something incoherent.

"What?"

"I said that Martin told me," she sulked. "He told me how to get out, he told me where to find you and now we're stuck in this mess because _you two_ wanted to go into the swamps! What kind of stupid idea was _that_?!"

"Hey!" Brink shouted. "Hey! Those _things_ were supposed to be annihilated by us otters a long time ago! How was I supposed to know?!"

"It's common sense!"

"And it's common sense to listen to some crazy dead mouse in your dreams?! We were trying to avoid Greymorg soldiers! It was a good strategy!"

"No it wasn't!" she screeched. And then her voice dropped. "And I'll never see my friends and family again. All I got to do was write a short good-bye letter because I had no time. They're gonna wonder where I've gone and what's happened to me. My Mom's probably heart-broken. I'll never see them again." She broke off from the argument, sniffling and crying to herself all over again. Brink sighed, closing his eyes and shook his head. He couldn't stand tears.

_I'm not going to see my family ever again either. I haven't seen them in seasons and I'm never going home. Cora would've grown so much by now and Mom and Pop would have a bunch of grey hairs. And I'll never see the holt again. They won't even know what happened to me. I've just vanished to them. I'm dead to all of them._

"Hey Sarrow?"

She didn't reply, though he knew she was still awake by all her sobbing. "Listen, whatever happens- whatever they're going to do to us, I'll make sure that I die first before they even hurt either of you."

"Thanks Brink," Sarrow whispered.

"And Keetch?" the otter asked. "Are you alright? You've barely said anything since we've been dumped here."

"I'm just... a little tired is all," the fox replied wearily. "My head hurts too."

"Did you hit your head or something?"

"I don't know. Maybe."

Brink had nothing more to say, and if he did, it would probably be something depressing. Instead he lay down in the uncomfortable, cold mud and began to think. At first his brain worked out escape plans, and then he thought about home and his family, and then he thought about his friends, and then he thought about what he would do when he got back. There was a lot he would do, a lot he would say.

* * *

Brink awoke to the sound of the earth wall sliding down. He sat up sluggishly, licking his lips and finding them cracked. The soft croaking sounded and Brink narrowed his eyes.

"Well what now?" he asked, spitting to the side. "Here to eat us now?" The toads didn't say anything, though Brink was sure they were capable of speech the last time he encountered them.

"W-well what do you want?" Keetch asked. The toads remained silent, but they came closer, croaking quietly in some way. _Probably discussing on whether they should chop us to bits or just swallow us whole. _They shuffled closer and dropped something by the otter's footpaws. Cautiously, with his ears pricked, Brink reached down to see what they'd left. Whatever it was, it was on a leaf and had the strange texture that reminded him of cold porridge.

He tensed as another came closer and clumsily pushed something else at his footpaws.

"What is it?" Sarrow asked. The otter inspected the items, realizing he was touching a crudely-hollowed piece of wood that served as a bowl. "A bowl of water and some slop for food. Looks like they want to keep us alive... for now."

Brink did nothing, waiting for the creatures to leave so that they could eat their pathetic meal in peace. They wouldn't budge.

"What d'ye want, Glass Eyes?" he spat, hoping he was looking straight at a toad. But if anything, they didn't seem to care about his aggressive tone. Rather, one shuffled closer so that it was within an arm's length of the otter, and before Brink could comprehend what was going on, the creature actually mashed a wad of slop against his mouth.

"Cut it out!" Brink backpawed the creature in what he hoped was the eye. "I eat your disgusting food when I want to!" The toads panicked, their croaks intensifying as the injured creature scampered away.

"Brink, what happened?"

"Oh," Sarrow moaned. "Now you made them mad."

Brink grimaced. He expected a fight or a beating of some sort, but all the toads did was leave and pack dirt back over their wall.

"... What?" Something was definitely wrong with these toads. "These things are babies compared to what we had to deal with before!"

"Just count yourself lucky they didn't eat you," Keetch said angrily. "What did you think you'd accomplish by fighting them?"

"What do you think you can accomplish by letting them walk all over you?" he snapped back.

"So..." Sarrow asked, poking some of the strange substance on their leaf. "They were trying to make you eat?"

"Just smell this stuff. It can't be good."

"I don't know..." The squirrel sniffed it experimentally, finding a strange, faint odor. "What _do_ toads eat when they don't have beasts to prey on?"

"Each other," the fox answered, crawling closer to them.

"Then this might be..."

"Toads." Brink finished the sentence with plenty of distaste in his tone.

"They could be roots for all you know," Sarrow replied. "... and it doesn't taste too bad. Just a little... tangy."

"You _ate_ it already?" The otter would have rather starved than to try any of their so-called "food."

"They tried to feed you, didn't beat us... they can't be that bad," she reasoned.

"Then why are we here?" Brink scoffed. "Why are we locked up? They probably need us fat and they probably don't like their meat bruised!"

"While we're here we might as well eat something," Keetch said. "We should keep our strength up for when we see the opportunity to run." He made a good point. The otter wrinkled his nose at the very thought, but there really was no good starving himself.

"Ah fine," he snorted, taking wiping some of the cold slop off his face and holding it to his lips. "But if this tastes terrible I'm not eating it."

"It really doesn't," Sarrow said sadly. "It's really plain... nothing compared to the food in Redwall." Redwall. Brink would give his tail to turn back time and be at that feast right now. They ate their food in silent misery, taking turns and sharing the bowl of water.

Was it the next day or the day after? They couldn't tell. Time stood still in a place like this- a place like this with no sun, no stars, no breeze, no real sounds. It was unnatural, sitting in a cell like this and wishing the captors would come because then _something_ was going to happen. It would change their boring routine of laying about and starting awkward conversations. But the second the walls came crumbling down the entire group stood to attention, holding their breath and preparing for something dreadful.

Brink swallowed, wondering if the outcome would be the same as last time. He actually _hit_ one of the captors, but they did nothing to punish him. Could it be that those particular ones were simply cowardly or were they all generally like that? Only one way to tell.

A grubby paw grabbed his arm and tugged at it. The otter didn't even think twice before dealing a brutal kick to the stomach. The creature croaked in pain and surprise and he could hear the splash of a puddle farther off.

"So what now, wart-skins?" he whispered to nobeast in particular. "What are you going to do to me now?"

The others listened on in stunned silence, waiting for Brink to grunt and fall on his back or something like that, but all they heard was a sad, piteous croak from the far side of the room.

"I think you really hurt him," Sarrow said, stepping away from the entrance as some toads grumbled angrily in their own muted language.

"Everybeast get behind me," Brink ordered, holding both clenched fists up in case any of the slimeballs tried anything fast. Keetch and Sarrow gathered around him, trembling at the thought of all the possible outcomes. He told them once that he would die before anything happened to them.

The first toad that came was hit in the eyes, and the one after that was pummeled in the stomach. He ignored the details after that, cutting down any of those vermin that dared to come too close. They were a swarm, gathering about slowly and trying to seek their weakness, trying to pry a creature from their huddle.

There was almost no point in struggling- not without any sight. Brink knew that, but he never gave up without a fight and he didn't intend to start now. And, if anything, it seemed to embolden the others into fighting for their own sakes rather than sit around and let themselves be eaten. He leapt at a toad, wrestling it down to the mud and began pulverizing its face with his fists. It was at least twenty to three and they haven't died yet. Perhaps they could make it? Perhaps if they could run out of the dungeon and feel their way through the tunnels they could get out and be free? What if the exit was outside the swamp?

"Brink!" _Keetch._

The warrior wheeled about, his fists flying and catching a toad in the mouth. Brink grappled for it and yanked its tongue out before throwing it down to the mud. The next few were actually pinning the fox face-down and suffocating him. With a few swift kicks, they were dispatched easily, but Brink had his back turned too long and he felt something heavy slam against his side. He grunted in pain, catching himself on his knees before he fell. But like a wave they all came crashing down on him. His arms trembled against the weight as he fought to stay up, but they were getting too heavy. And like a twig between his claws, his arms gave out and his face was pressed into the earth.

He tried to scream and shout and curse, but all he could do was snort mud as the air was pressed out of his lungs. The triumphant, frantic croaking of the toads were next to his ear- stifling whatever his friends were screaming. He exhaled sharply at another addition of weight on his back. It felt like his ribs were about to shatter. He struggled harder, his claws scraping against the ground in an effort to draw himself from under the suffocating pile.

_Air. Air. Get off. Air._

"No! Get off him! Get off!"

"Please! You're killing him!"

The mob of toads froze and quieted for a second before a commanding croak sounded behind the two prisoners. The fox and squirrel jumped, eager to get out of its way, the other toads doing the same and getting off the unconscious woodlander. Keetch stayed where he was, not sure if it would anger his captors to check on Brink. The croak sounded again, this time following a shove that urged them out of their chamber.

His captors shoved him forward, causing him to trip over his legs in the blind darkness. "Brink! Brink!" No sound. He struggled then, trying to backtrack to his prison. "What did you do to him? What did you d- ugh!" His snout slammed into the wall and he immediately fell to miserable silence, allowing himself to submit to their commands.

"Keetch!" That was Sarrow's voice. He heard her stumble right alongside him, her gait clumsy in the slippery mud. He could tell she was close to crying again.

"Is Brink alright?" he asked urgently, still trodding along the tunnel. "Is he safe?"

"I heard him... I think. But where are they taking us? I don't want to die, Keetch." Her voice became high-pitched and panicky. "I don't want to be eaten alive."

"It's alright," he whispered, cringing as something slimy brushed by his arm. "They spared him, I think. They... I think need us for something."

The toads stopped abruptly and Keetch bumped into one, instantly flinching back as it turned around. He could see their faint outline- their bulging eyes, their webbed feet, and the fact that they were surprisingly small- about as high as his waist. But their mass, however, was another matter considering their plump shape. He counted them- counting up to ten of those small toads. And then they did something that surprised him.

Two toads in the back shuffled up to them clumsily, a messy bundle resting in their arms.

"My bow and arrows!" the squirrel exclaimed. She grabbed at them greedy, checking in the dim light to see if they were damaged. Keetch reached for his sword, eying the toads in case it was all some cruel joke. His paw rested on the hilt for just a second before he yanked it back, unsheathing it and pointing it towards the closest blob of fat.

"Keetch!" Sarrow gasped.

"What do you want?" he demanded, inching the blade closer to the tender throat. They ribbeted nervously, backing away from him. "You fight us and then give us weapons? What is this game?"

The toads croaked in their own distressed way, blinking up at him and licking their moist lips with their repulsive tongues. He couldn't make a word of what they were saying and it didn't seem that they had the brains to signal their intentions. Rather, they nudged at him cautiously, urging him forward with their webbed paws and making soft- almost encouraging- sounds. It would be so easy to run them through- so easy to slice right through their bulging bellies. But something still didn't make sense. Why would they do all this? What was their motive?

There could be a million things that were running through their minds. Perhaps they decided to let them go? That couldn't be it. But what was it? Begrudgingly, the fox dropped his sword, gripping the hilt and striding towards the exit without their consent. If any one of them tried to stop him he'd slice them in half.

The air was not much better than in the tunnel- all muggy and moist. Just as he expected, he was still in the swamp. But even so, he could see here and it felt so much warmer than in the drafty old tunnels. He wanted so much to dart right out of the close-spaced hole, but instinct told him to stay. Ears facing forward, tail bristled, he waited for any signs of life.

He practically yelped when the toads rushed between his legs and outside. Keetch had half a mind to yell at them, but instead he gaped at their horrid appearance. They were completely white- almost transparent and their large eyes were a pale pink color. If he thought that the larger counterparts looked strange and unreal, these were much much worse. He stepped away from them, flinching away as some tried to latch onto his arm.

"What are they?" Sarrow whispered.

"I'd rather know what they want," he hissed, shoving one away and into some ferns. "What's the purpose of us being out here in the first place?" He looked up, only to be confused at the creatures that had suddenly lost interest in them. More than half were out of sight, the rest of them either rooting around the mud or piling debris in front of the tunnel entrance. The prisoners stayed where they were, fully suspicious of their intentions.

"I think they might be letting us go," the squirrelmaid finally said, though the volume of her voice didn't carry out any sort of confidence.

"But _why_ do they have Brink?" She said nothing to that, staring up at the gnarled trees while strapping her quiver to her back.

"What are you doing?" he whispered, raising his sword slightly in case those things tried anything.

"I'm just checking on something," she replied, keeping her head low- as if it made her any less conspicuous. Slowly, carefully, she inched her way toward a low branch, tail twitching as she watched for any reaction from the toads. If anything, all she got were a few curious looks, but no creature moved to stop her from leaping up the first bough, or the second, or the third. In fact, they simply stared in awe of her as she soundlessly ascended to the to. The squirrel stopped to take a deep breath before taking another leap to a nearby tree, waiting for the sounds of protest. Then she jumped to the next tree, and the next until she was sure she was out of their sight. She couldn't believe it.

Sarrow raced back, feeling swifter and sharper than any squirrel before her. By the time she reached Keetch she was panting and grinning like a fool.

"They're letting us go!" She could barely contain herself. "We're free to go, Keetch!"

"That's impossible." For every ounce of optimism she had in the moment, the fox destroyed it. "They probably know something we don't know. There could be some kind of river or barrier that's blocking us from leaving this place in that direction and-"

"And that's why they won't let Brink out? Because he can swim across?"

"It's what I think. Though... what if..."

"What?" she asked eagerly, eyes constantly darting towards the busy captors.

"What if they let us out simply because they know we won't escape. What _if_ they know we won't abandon one of our own?"

"So that's why Brink is still in there..." she nodded her head, motioning at the concealed underground entrance. "He's not just an example for any resistance. He's a hostage."

"Right," Keetch said, shivering despite the tight humidity.

_"You're not sure if he's even still alive. Why not just go your merry way?" _

He shook his head clear, willing that voice away. If this was what "sacrifice" Vulpuz was talking about, he wasn't going to step down so lightly.

_"You say that now, but you'll run with your tail between your legs at the first sign of danger."_

"Sarrow!" He hesitated, realizing his voice was harsher than he meant. Even the pale-skinned toads looked up from their menial tasks. "Er... Sarrow," he said in a quieter voice. "You wouldn't leave him here, would you? Even if there's a chance... that he's already dead?"

"Never." The answer was automatic, though the way she kept staring at the trees gave the fox second thoughts.

"R-right. So I was thinking-"

"We should have a plan."

"If either of us has an idea," the vermin added. "We don't have time to come up with anything complicated right now- not when we don't have a clue what's in store for us. So I think that one of us has t-"

_CLACK!_

The toads reacted immediately, bowling the poor beasts over before they even had a chance to register the noise. The fox landed flat on his back, the wind knocked right out of him. The spinning image of a gray sky swathed in sickly branches danced before his eyes, and then something fluttered in front of his vision, clamping his snout shut. He blinked, suddenly finding himself being ruthlessly dragged through the mud.

"Mmmmmmfff!" Keetch squeezed his right paw, only to find that his sword was not there.

He kicked and squirmed, but the toads still held tight, practically shoving him somewhere dark and packed with those monsters. He gave up right then, his heart beating like a maddened war drum, the sparse light showing him nothing but a score of fat blobs moving clumsily as they tried to get a better look- but a better look at what? He gave a hushed yelp past his muzzle and tears sprung from his eyes as a heavy weight landed on his tail, settling there.

"Keetch!"

That was Sarrow's voice. The crowd went into a frenzy and he was relinquished. The fox sighed with relief as a particularly large toad stepped off his tail, allowing the pain to subside to a throbbing ache.

"Let _go!_"

Keetch stood up, easily towering over the toads so he could see the spectacle. Unlike he, the archer was unwilling to go without a fight- wrestling the amphibians to the ground and biting whatever paw that tried to silence her. "You're not getting me in there! NO!" She whipped out her bow, the bladed ends slicing her enemies. One fell, grasping at his throat while another hobbled away and towards the tunnel. The last toad barely got a croak in before she pinned it the ground, a knee on his chest and a paw curled around its throat.

The toads in the tunnel ribbetted maddeningly, many of them fleeing deeper into the darkness while others stayed to watch. _Why aren't they going to help that one?_ Numb as his mind was at the moment, he caught the tiny flicker of movement just twenty paces from her. Sarrow's toad suddenly tripled his efforts to break free.

The ominous movement happened again, the creature responsible moving forward so everybeast could see the pink tongue that tickled the air and the jaws of which it belonged to.

"Run!" Keetch boomed, his voice so coarse, it sounded incomprehensible in his ears. "Sarrow, _RUN!_"

At that same moment the lizards charged, all three of them racing for the struggling pair. The squirrel immediately sprang to her paws, dodging a set of snapping jaws and up into a tree, a lizard climbing after her clumsily. The toad, however, was not so fortunate.

It gave a shrill, unearthly cry as a lizard sunk its pricked teeth into it, its mouth clamped on both its back and soft underbelly. The prey struggled at first, but the lizard loosened its grip to deliver a second devastating blow before shaking its head violently, thrashing the toad against the ground like a rag doll. Then its partner joined in the fray, its maw wrapping around the poor creature's head. It squealed, a mixture of a croak and a scream before the lizards pulled away from each other. Keetch had no idea what gave out first, but he heard both the snap of the spine and the painful rip the muscles before it finally went limp.

The lizards snapped hungrily at their food, attacking the chunks of flesh and ripping them apart. Everyone stayed completely still, drinking in the sight- watching in both fear and morbid curiosity. Then one of the lizards raised its head, its tongue flitting into the air for a few painful moments. The reptile continued carefully, contemplating its next move while the other finished its portion with ravenous speed. And then on unison they pointed their narrow heads at the tunnel where everybeast was hiding. They lowered their heads, tails lashing as they stepped over the ribbons of intestines and bile smeared on the ground.

Keetch swallowed, barely forcing down that dry lump in his throat. They just stared down the nest of prey, tongues tasting the air as they swiveled their heads. And then the charge came, both of them barreling at full speed. Everyone recoiled and the crowd raced backwards, forcing themselves deeper into the death pit as the lizards tried to bull their way through. Everything was chaos. The toads up in front fought to get to the middle and the ones in the back were stumbling over themselves to get away while the ones in the middle were buffeted and trampled by both sides.

All this while the fox was shaking uncontrollably as he tried to stay submerged in the safety of the crowd. However, he was soon fighting against the lot of them as they shoved him forward and towards the cruel fangs and the razor claws. He kicked, he punched, he shoved, he bit, but none of it made a difference. The seer screamed, though he couldn't hear himself above the toads' frantic croaks or the furious hisses coming from up ahead.

"No! Stop!" he begged. "_Please!_"

Keetch found himself facing the enemy, the toads shoving him forward while he dug his heels in the ground. He could hear their growls, their claws as they tore at the earth walls, and their jaws snapping together like a metal trap. He stopped just an arm's length from their reach and he pressed back, heart ready to leap right out of his chest. The fox waited for those things to rend his flesh and tear his head off, but all he could feel was the gust of wind that came from each of their failed swipes.

He opened his eyes. Out of their stupid greed, the reptiles had bolted into the hole at once, quickly becoming lodged against one another in the narrower parts of the passageway. It seemed as they were all trapped. But of course now he was on borrowed time.

A tiny wine glass appeared in his mind. Just a little empty glass floating in the air. But then it filled with a red, oozing liquid, a hot metallic smell emanating from it. Then the huge snake-like eyes blinked open in the shadows, watching him intently. Keetch ignored Vulpuz and instead lunged for the glass. If he needed it last time, he definitely needed it now. But before he could get to it-

"Keetch!" He could barely hear the call past all the deafening sounds. "Keetch!" The lizards suddenly started writhing, now trying their hardest to back out.

"I'm here!" he shouted back. "I'm here!"

He squirmed back some more, eyes wide in fear as a lizard clamped its jaws around its partner. The other hissed and retaliated, snagging a claw into its throat. Both hissed furiously, moving jerkishly as they attacked one another, both determined to destroy the other to make room for an escape. The tunnel echoed with their terrible cries and Keetch could feel tremors surge through the earth. And finally, it became silent. A low, weak rumble emanated from one of the predators before it fell still.

Nothing stirred.

"Keetch!" the squirrel yelled from the other side. "Keetch! Are you alright? Say something!"

"I'm fine," he called breathlessly, shaking uncontrollably as he sank to the floor, toads rushing past him to inspect the damage. "I'm fine. I'm fine..." Both lizards were horribly disemboweled, their innards and blood soaking in the mud. But given the carnage, the toads somehow managed to crawl between them and to the other side while others started collecting the chunks of flesh and organs.

The fox stayed where he was, still shaken by the memory. _That was... the scariest thing I'd ever... the scariest thing that's ever happened to me. _

He startled when something wet plopped heavily on his lap. He looked up, seeing a rough silhouette of a toad. Then he looked down at the mysterious object, picking it up carefully and gulping. He stayed quiet, not knowing what to do with the considerable chunk of liver.

"Ouch! Ouch! Careful!" Keetch's ears perked and he looked back at the entrance. The group that retrieved her let her rest by the wall, all of them crowding around her. He stood up and walked to her, dropping the liver on the ground. She was curled up, one arm supporting the other and her left eye closed.

"What happened?"

"Ugh," she groaned, touching her eye gingerly. "A claw caught me in the arm and my eye-"

"Don't touch it," he ordered, kneeling down and pulling her paw away from her face so he could get a better look. It was already beginning to swell up, but if anything, there didn't seem to be any cut or blood coming from it.

"Is it bleeding?" he asked. "Did they scratch you there?"

"No," she replied. "A lizard was climbing up and a branch snapped under me." She paused, wincing as he inspected the gash on her arm. "I was safe up there, but just my luck it was the one isolated tree around and- OW!"

"Sorry," he apologized, trying to blot out the blood with a bit of his tunic.

"I fell," she continued through clenched teeth. "I was near the top and saw those two get into the tunnel and I leaned over to look and a branch snapped under me. I landed on a lower branch just face to face with that stupid lizard that was chasing after my tail. Didn't have my arrows with me 'cause I dropped them, but I had my bow. Had to brain it with the daggers." Keetch nodded, remembering the way her bow was equipped with blades on each end. "After that I found my arrows and began shooting the scaly scumbags and they finished the job for us eventu- stoppit!"

Keetch glanced down at the bloody meat on her lap with curiosity while she tossed it away from her.

"Disgusting," she sulked. Keetch let out a relieved sigh, watching the toads harvest the flesh, some of them nibbling at the organs before another toad hopped up and began to- what seemed to be- admonish them.

"I think I know what's going on now," he said softly, his eyes never leaving the sight.

"What?"

"They were the ones that rescued us. They were aware that we were in the swamp, and they must have seen us fighting back the toads and salamanders and everything. What _if_..." he paused, staring straight at a toad as it dropped a strand of intestine at their footpaws and hopped away.

"These small toads are preyed upon by their larger counterparts. They live in constant fear, having to go forage outside and worry about their nest being discovered. That's why they rescued us. They-"

"They wanted somebeast to protect them," Sarrow interrupted, the realization sinking in. "That's why they didn't want to hurt us. They just kept us in a prison."

"It's also why they gave us weapons on their forage. And these," he nodded at the organs being piled beside them. "They're offerings. Some of the toads have been eating them, and it seems that they've been giving us the best parts. We're their saviors."

Sarrow grimaced, sending a scorching look at the growing group of toads that began tearing at the carcasses, carefully dismantling what was left of the organs and eyes and cracking for the bone marrows with rocks. "Their unwilling saviors."

"This is good news," Keetch said reassuringly. "If they need us that badly, they must keep as many of us alive so that there's a hostage to prevent us from running."

"That means Brink's alive!" Sarrow exclaimed, quickly hushing herself as the some toads jumped or skittered in fright.

"Which means we're safe," the fox continued, "as long as we continue to protect them. Now that we know what's going on, I think it should be easier for us next time."

"Maybe," the squirrel said darkly. "But it won't be long until somebeast gets seriously hurt."

"Or if they decide we're no use and..." he decided not to mention something so morbid, but even Sarrow knew what was on his mind. These toads, even though smaller and somewhat smarter than the average toads, were still subject to cannibalism.

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**As I said, not my favorite chapter. :( **

**OK, so to answer some of the questions you guys might have, the toads aren't some random result of my overactive imagination. They are based on some a pet frog my family used to have- the albino African Clawed Frog. I called it Ugly. :P**

**Unlike most girls, I actually like amphibians and reptiles (with the exception of snakes that eat mice... snakes that eat insects are ok to me). I had a chameleon once as a little kid. Its name was Rainbows. :) Eh... back on topic.**

**My albino frog looked more pinkish than white. Comparing the creatures in this chapter and the ones in real life (note that the albino ones are only sold as pets while the ones in the wild are darker), there are quite a few similarities, since the African frogs are social and live in colonies, they are scavengers and carnivorous, they are voracious eaters eat anything that they can cram in their mouths by stuffing food in with their front legs (it looks a little hilarious and cute... unless that "food" happens to be your salamander's tail... don't worry, the salamander was completely unharmed ^^;... but seriously, once Ugly ate a rock... ), they are burrowing creatures, and they do tend to be cannibals since they do eat the young of other frogs. One of the only things that are different between my frogs and the African frogs are their sizes. The real frogs aren't much smaller than the normal size of regular frogs, though they have a broader body that resembles toads. The animals that I described in my story, however, are based off the size of the African Dwarf Frog, which has the same colorations but are different altogether.**

**Interesting fact(s): It is actually an invasive species all over the African Clawed Frog was used as a pregnancy test experiment animal in the 1940's and 50's and were later released in the wild. What those stupid scientists didn't understand was the fact that introducing foreign species to nature is extremely dangerous and harmful to the native creatures. Because these frogs keep on escaping from their homes and because of the big release back in the day, these frogs have helped to spread diseases and fungi to the native population of frogs and they continue to eat their young, which is the reason to a lot of native frog population crashes... which is bad, because I live close to a small pond and Ugly escaped from our porch. Obviously, my dad wasn't thinking when he put our salamander out on our porch in a bucket and it escaped. Why he let our frog out in a bucket the very next day after our salamander escaped, I have no idea. It makes me angry.**

**Also, they are hardy creatures, and they can live up to 15 years! That might explain why my dad "lost" it... _ They burrow into the mud during dryer seasons, can survive mild freezes, sometimes "revive" after drying up (just soak them in water for a while, and they sometimes return from the dead!), and can go into a dormant state for up to a year.**

**Um... yeah, I think you get my geekiness up to this point. I'm sorry you had to witness that. :(**

**So, just how are Brink, Keetch, and Sarrow going to get out of this little mess? I already have a plan all worked out, and I'm just going to say that one particular character is going to have some serious trouble carrying out the strategy.  
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**OK, see you all next time! :D**

**~Jade TeaLeaf  
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	57. See How They Turn

**Oh geez guys. I'm so so so so sorry for being so delayed. :( See, when I told people that it would be up by "next week" (I don't remember what week that would've been... it's too long ago), I didn't realize that the date would fall on midterm week. Yeah, the date kind of snuck up on me. And right when that was done my parents decided that we should renovate the house, so I was constantly packing and repacking and sleeping wherever I can find a place not completely disarrayed or painted. So, it's been crazy. **

**Oh, and let's not forget that this story has passed its 2nd anniversary. Yup. Time flew and I looked back at my first chapter and laughed at my "n00bness." I've come a pretty long way but I still have room to grow. And don't worry. I haven't given up on this story and I don't plan to. Ever. I've invested far too much time in this to give up and it's fun to write and I'll just miss you guys. ^^; I'm also quite proud to say that I've planned out a bunch of stuff for the sequel and the prequel to this story as well as the end to Throw Down Your Guise (I still hate that name)... and I've got quite a few nice turns in this story too, though pacing is an obvious issue. :( Will work on that on Spring Break, though.  
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**Special thanks to all who reviewed last time: Jarrtail, Quavera Tava, Red Squirrel Writer, Fwirl of Redwall, DGShadowChocolate, DarthCraftus, MangaHottie740, Hyperthatically Impassible, Library Drone SAR, Foeseeker, and Airan O'Conner (and I will shoot you... a reply).**

**NOTE: This chapter is gory, but not as gory as a few others *cough*Chapter 52*cough*. It would probably be a lot easier to understand this chapter if you reviewed Chapter 52, since it's been a very long time since I've posted that one.  
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**Culture Shock (a few things about wolf culture): -khan/-khar is the suffix you add for the Alphas, much like how the Japanese add respectful or informal suffixes to names at times (-sama, -chan, -san, etc.); The leaders are formally referred to by their pack name, so it would be Haien-khan for the Haien-pack's male Alpha. Just in case there's any confusion over some character that seems to have two names. I honestly don't know if I'm getting a bit carried away with wolf culture or if I go too fast, but it's just too fun. ^^**

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**See How They Turn  
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The shadows lengthened along the ground as the sun began its descent. Normally Kokota would've found himself raising his tent or starting up the warming fires with the others. But these were not normal days. Normal days included living in constant fear of that evil that the weasels had sealed within their walls. Normal days included avoiding that festering wound they called Greymorg. Normal days did not include memories of funeral rites for an entire pack. And even if this wasn't a normal day, Haien-khan would rather pretend that it was.

_Lishe reclined in his seat, shaking his head wearily while Kokota and Frey sat across from him, their eyes downcast in respect for the fallen. Had he been in better health, the Alpha would have at least set paw on the red-stained dirt. The merciful scent of ash had eventually wafted away from that place, leaving a putrid musk that clogged the lungs. He would have seen the flies that choked the air or the maggots that rippled under the decaying hides and sockets. He would have stood at the spot where the camp was started for the last time, little rings of soot to signify its fading memory. He would have walked into the pine forest. _

_Whatever horrifying details and reports the pair had come up with, none of those were enough to conjure such a despicable, fitting image. __Even when Greymorg sent its black monster on them generations and generations ago, never did an entire pack fall. No matter what disease, war, or starvation befell their kind, no pack was ever cut down. Ever._

_"Koun..." Lishe's frown over-shadowed his eyes, but nobeast could deny the anger and confusion in it. "The poor fool." There was a stretch of silence, the greying Alpha lost in his memories. There was a lot of history in that pack. Far in the past there had been feuds between them, but when Greymorg came they were pack brothers joined with the purpose to keep that evil from taking root. But that itself had been a miserable failure.  
_

_"Haien-khan." The elder wolf looked up from his thoughts, readily lending his warrior an ear._

_"I ask this of you," Kokota began, "when... when are we to meet the Druids to give them news? When do we join numbers to fight-"_

_"No." The younger wolf stopped at the harsh growl. His leader was far past his prime but that did not mean that he had lost any respect or authority. "We do nothing to anger them. Koun did something that put them in fury and now all of Sluthe have double for it in lifeblood."_

_"Haien-khan, we found the scent of the sea-beasts smothered all over the battleground," Kokota explained. "It cannot be Greymorg."_

_"Then why attack the wolves?"_

_"Because they think that we are the enemy," Kokota explained. "They think that we are one of Greymorg's numbers."_

_"And what did Sluthe do to catch the sea-beasts' attention?" the chieftain questioned. "What did they do to make them seem a threat? They know to keep away. They _know_ to keep out of sight. They-"_

_"Father, that's enough." Lishe turned his intimidating eyes on the she-wolf. "We must not turn a deaf ear to this. Whatever actions Sluthe had done, they could not have deserved anything close to their fate. Proud and rebellious they may be, but they have never fallen from honor. Sluthe-khan always kept mind of his pack's safety. If they were the first to fire the arrow, why did they keep their pups and elders close by? If it truly was a fight they wanted, they would have come to Haien or Druid for aid."_

_"No they would not," he rumbled, lips curling at the thought. "I would cut Koun down with my own fangs if he came with such dangerous ideas, leader or not."_

_"Why?" Frey asked, the her white fur raising slightly. "Why do you say such traitorous things?"_

_"Koun was the traitor," her father growled. "He's the one that brought bloodshed on his entire pack. He and his mate led them to their deaths and now both Greymorg and those strangers will have their eyes on us for any reason to do the same. Greymorg has kept its word. It left us be so long as we did not pose a threat to them. The sea-beasts... I know nothing of and they knew nothing of the packs until Sluthe made a mistake. Bare your fangs at either one them and _you_ become the traitor."_

_"Then what do we do?" Kokota asked, clenching his fists. _

_"We let this rest."_

_"But the Druids-"_

_"Foolish!" he snarled again, baring his fangs at the younger wolf. As expected of him, the warrior never flinched. "We have hearings with the Druids and it will look like we are joining numbers for war."_

_"Cowardly!" Frey barked back. "Is this the Wolf's Way? Our brothers' and sisters' bodies feed the crows while we tuck our tail between our legs?"_

_"Quiet!"  
_

_"You did not see that pup and her ruined body," his daughter continued, lifting herself up to her footpaws, her voice rising in both conviction and grief. "You did not hear her cries. You did not see the heads on pikes, the ashes, the unborn dashed across the ground, the pups dangling from trees like rotted fruit. Their souls howl for justice!" Kokota raised a paw to calm his mate, but she swatted it away and stood at full height.  
_

_"Our pack brothers and sisters were all slaughtered the other day and you choose to cower from those vermin. A wolf that turns his back on his bloodkind deserves death! You are like a chain-beast to the weasels and their building of stone! You are no better than the pitiful souls trapped inside those walls. When they tell you to move us further away, you go as far as it pleases them. When they tell you to come 'talk peace,' you do all that they want. And that time they said you insulted them you... you hung your tail and begged for forgiveness. Is this the pride of the Haien?!"_

_"Hold your tongue!" Lishe roared, rushing up to his full height so that he towered over her. "I am leader here! For two times your seasons, I have been. Coward? A chain beast? Traitor? Call me what you will. The pack leaders before me have all been the same. Is that your wish? That Haien fights to the death for more land and pride while we already have enough to manage? This is greed! Folly! I will tear... I..." His back bent slightly, taking deep breaths all while trying to finish his argument._

_"Father!"_

_"Haien-khan!"_

_Frey was at his side in an instant, gently seating him back in his bedroll. Kokota stood awkwardly to the side as his mate draped layers of blankets on their great chieftain, chiding him about his health and herbal tea. Were she anybeast else, no doubt he would count the worrisome behavior to be more of an insult than a caring gesture. _

_"Kota, the tea kettle is empty," Frey stressed, patting his back as he tried to muzzle his coughs with a paw. The warrior nodded and opened the tent flap before she added, "And fetch Re-" She stopped, and Kokota caught the Alpha grab her wrist, shaking his head as he stifled another bout of coughs. _

_"Just get the tea," she said to her mate, her eyes downcast as she tended to her father. Kokota sighed as he exited the tent. Change was in the wind. Dark changes. First there was Sluthe, and then there was Haien-khan's failing health. Three season's time. According to Renn, that was how much Oros was willing to spare the chieftain before taking him to the gates. No wolf wanted to believe it, but the healer was always regrettably accurate. _

_Keeping mind on his task, the warrior entered the Elder's Circle, dipping his head in both respect and apology. Some gave him subtle nods, and some frowned upon him, but he ignored their belligerent stares as he collected a pawful of herbs and a clay kettle of boiling water. By no means were elders the head of the pack, but they were all to be treated with utmost respect whether it be the strongest warrior or smallest pup._

_Again he bowed his head as he exited their area, ears pricked for any snide utterances. He couldn't hear them, but their eyes were telling enough.  
_

_"... young blood is full of pride." The wolf paused in front of the tent flap, listening as Lishe completed his argument with a more gentle and collected manner. "You seek for what is best for our bloodkind. As a wolf you should. As a future Alpha, you must. Be sure to always keep your ear to your packmates' words and to the elders' advice. It is experience that has taught us our weaknesses and limitations, which has also given us the wisdom to keep our peace. Do you see the truth now?"_

_Kokota entered quietly with a lowered gaze, placing the kettle by Frey's paws before he retreated to a more respectful distance._

_"Kokota." Lishe beckoned him closer as Frey handed him a steaming cup. The young wolf obliged, choosing to stop only when he was within an arm's reach of his mate. The chieftain took a deep sip and sighed, his shoulders relaxing. He fixed his successor with a thoughtful look before continuing. _

_"Do you agree with my daughter? Do you wish for war as well?"_

_Kokota pursed his lips, his mind selecting the words carefully. There was so much to say. So much that had happened. __Stories told of times when the packs knew the Wolf's Way, when they were noble and courageous beasts. __ The wolves still had strength. He knew it. He'd seen it with his own eyes back on that day with his Fang Brother... with all that blood and snow...  
_

_"Speak as an equal," the leader rasped, breaking the silence, the memory leaving with it. "Pay no mind to your darker actions. No need to hold your tongue."  
_

_He nodded gratefully at the Alpha. "My mind is with Frey. But you must understand, we do not wish for war and bloodshed. We want justice. We cannot wait for those demons to tear the others' throats. If times have changed on us, we can change as well."  
_

_The look on the leader's face was nothing encouraging. There was a hint of admiration in his eyes, but there was little of that compared to disapproval. "You saw what they did to Sluthe, correct? Dismembering? Disemboweling? Beheading? No restraint? No mercy?"_

_He swallowed. "Yes."_

_"Then learn from it."_

The bushes rustled behind him and his neckfur stood on end. "Kokota." The familiarity of that voice eased his anxiousness. "All of us counted. There has to be twelve vermin, twenty chain-beasts," Frey whispered in his ear. He nodded slowly, keeping track of the prey as they skittered around the forest, clumsily collecting berries and scrounging up the earth for mere roots. _How dare those things trespass on Haien territory._

"Torr doesn't agree with this plan of ours," she continued, her eyes also focused on their quarry. "Haien-khan wanted the sea-beasts left alone." He expected that much from the wolf. Torr probably wasn't the only one in the group to refuse. Kokota looked to the other side of the clearing and saw a bough sway. At least he still had a few others- enough to finish this. Granted, they were not willing at first, but the future Alphas gave them word that no responsibility would be taken on them.

"Then Torr can run back and bay like a pup," Kokota muttered, stifling a growl as a ferret kicked a helpless chain-beast.

"Scum!" the slaver spat, kicking the vole again. "Useless! Get back'n'line!"

Still the wolves waited, hiding in the shadows as their eyes kept track of all around them. Every vermin, every weapon, every chain-beast, every age, every blind-spot. It was all a matter of time before the others were situated and certain about the numbers they had to work with.

-and there!

His ears perked as a bush rustled up ahead. The clumsy beasts in front of them didn't even notice the other two wolves that had stationed themselves in the periphery. The future Alphas nodded at them and they nodded back. Slowly, Frey lifted her paw, eyes flicking to the side and to her other pack-mates scattered around.

She brought her paw forward and it was as if the Gates themselves had sprung wide open.

Kokota was the first to attack, running up and clubbing a rat in the head. The unfortunate beast flopped to his stomach without so much as a yelp, though his chain-beast gave a shrill shriek that was sure to send the birds flying. The other vermin whirled around, swords swinging in a wide arc that cut nothing but air. The rest of the wolves followed silently, eyes gleaming gold in the dying sunlight as they raised their weapons. The scent of fear clouded the air as slavers and chain-beasts alike screamed, some of them curling into a ball while others tripped over themselves in an effort to scramble away. Very few dared to lift their weapons at their unforeseen enemies, and those numbers were quickly cut down.

Kokota parried a sword-thrust with ease before stepping in for a swift punch in the throat that sent the vermin's footpaws up in the air. By the time his back hit the ground his consciousness was battered right out of him. The warrior panted as he looked around, counting and recounting every cowering chain-beast, unconscious vermin, and pack-brethren. It was a quick skirmish, just as he'd predicted, though there was one casualty.

"Can you stand?" he asked his mate. She was sitting on the floor, clasping her knee as she grit her teeth.

"I can." She stood up easily, though he could still see the twigs poking through her shin.

"The chain-beast got in the way," she explained, glaring at a strange, hapless creature that lay stunned on the floor. Indeed, he'd noticed this thing while watching. He'd seen squirrels, mice, rats, voles, and the like, but he'd never seen such a creature. It looked as though it had rolled itself in sap and pine needles.

"I- I'm sorry," it squeaked, curling up as if he could possibly hide himself from the staring eyes. "Please don't 'urt me." The she-wolf merely grunted in response, wincing as she tugged at one of the twigs.

"I want to talk to this one," Kokota said to the huddled mass of tears and whimpers. "The rest of you chain-beasts rest over there." He pointed a claw towards a smaller clearing up ahead. The creatures stared at him for a moment, glancing at each other nervously before they shuffled over to their designated area.

"Joul, watch them," he instructed to the youngest wolf. The warrior hesitated.

"Kokota," he said softly, shaking his head as he stared at the sea-beasts. "Haien-khan would... I am no coward. Wolves don't turn their backs on their brothers, but they are not to disobey their Alph-"

"Let your worries rest," Frey interrupted gently. "We will answer to Haien-khan." Joul opened his mouth again, but thought better of it, nodding as he motioned the chain-beasts in the general direction. The other wolves knew their task, picking up their unconscious captives and binding their wrists with rope.

The leaders took this time to question the unfamiliar creature.

"Chain-beast," the she-wolf addressed, yanking the last needle from her skin. "What manner of beast are you? And what strange armor is this?" She lifted her paw, the sharp, tiny fragment pinched between her claws.

"I'm- I'm - I'm a hedgehog," he stammered, pressing himself against a tree as he looked up at them with round, pleading eyes. "Hedgehog- hedgepig. P-please don't eat me."

"Tell us of the armor," Kokota reminded patiently, inspecting the strange hide. The hedge-thing cringed as the wolf patted the thick layer of needles and twigs. They pricked at the touch, and he noticed the small bare patch of skin on the beast's back. No doubt that was where his mate had stumbled upon him.

"They're just- they're just my quills, see?" the creature explained, ruffling the rows of spikes on his arm. "I di'nt mean to hurt anybeast. I just rolled up and she tripped on me."

"Where did you get such things?" Frey asked, poking pink patch of skin with a claw.

"I- I was born with them," he replied, wincing as she tugged a quill out of him. "It tastes terrible," he added quickly. "_I_ taste terrible. Please don't-"

"There is no need to fear us," Kokota replied, wrinkling his nose at the thought. "What we want now is knowledge. So tell us, 'hedgehog', what do you know of the sea-beasts?"

"Sea-beasts?" They nodded at the corsairs, and then the creature seemed to understand.

"Oh... the corsairs... yes... I think I know them. I've known them a few seasons, methinks... w-what do you want to know?"

"Everything," they answered in unison. "And most of all, why they started the war with wolves," Frey added with a growl. "Why did they attack the Sluthe?"

"I... I don't understand."

"What do you not understand?" she continued, towering over him. "The question or the reason _why_?"

"B-b-b-both... ma'am. I'm just a slave. I don't know nothing!"

"Then start with what you do know," she huffed. "Tell us, who is this leader of sea-beasts?"

"That's Captain Nyara," he gulped. "She's a wildcat... the Hell Cat. Oh she's terrible."

"Wildcat?"

"She's 'bout big as you two," he explained. "You'd know it was her if you see her."

"And why is she at war with Greymorg?"

"S... she wants the castle. The fort. The land and slaves. Everythin'."

"Greedy creatures," Kokota muttered before he asked his question. "And you, what do you know of wolves?"

"You two..." the hedge-beast's eyes flicked between them and the rest of the scouting group. "You two are wolves, aren't you? I thought so... but no... I didn't think that I'd ever see a wolf. No. The corsairs never even spoke of 'em."

"And what of their num-" The questioning was brought to a halt as one of the captives emitted a groan, his head lolling lazily as his mind swam back to consciousness.

"If you know nothing of such matters," Kokota said, lifting the vermin by the scruff of his neck, "then maybe this beast has what we need."

* * *

The first thing that came across Halfleg's throbbing head was not the sound of waves or harsh, insulting voices. There was just silence for once, and it seemed that he'd fallen asleep in the storage this time. His brain pounded against his skull and he groaned, trying to roll over only to press his face to the ground and snort dirt. The ferret hissed in frustration, trying to prop himself up on his elbows, but even his arms would not move.

"Huh...? Wha's this now?" He blinked stars out of his sight, his vision unfurling so that he could see the dark outlines of trees and the horrified hedgehog.

"Whatar'yewlookin'at?" he slurred, rolling onto his side as he tried to make his arms obey him. But then he felt something digging into his wrist and ankles. He froze, realizing the horrible memory of shadows rushing up at him and being knocked to the ground.

"W-hey!" He tripled his efforts, writhing in the dirt like the worm he truly was before something clamped around his scruff, lifting him into the air as if he was a tiny cub. Halfleg went limp, looking down at the hedgehog as it stayed helpless on the floor. Hot breath seemed to mist around the nape of his neck and he gulped, not daring to move.

"Talk." The voice was gruff and low.

"What'dya want t'know?" the ferret squealed, making a half-hearted kick against his bonds. "I- I'll tell ya everythin' y'need. Just don't..."

"What were you doing here?" The accent was thick and heavy, as if every word was laborious, but not to the point where it was incomprehensible.

"We was- we was," he took a second to lick his cracked lips. "We was just foragin', y'know? For nuts'n'berries'n'roots... y'know?"

"Does he speak the truth?"

"Y-"

"Yes sir." Halfleg looked down at the nodding slave, noting that the question was not directed at him.

"Then tell me this." The vermin yelped as gravity overtook his body, slamming his face down into the earth. He gulped, keeping his head still as his eyes wandered upward and towards his captor. He regretted it in an instant. "What quarrel do you have with us? Why did you kill the Sluthe pack? What _reason _could you possibly have to send them to their deaths in such a terrible, dishonorable way?"

"I don't- I don't know what you're talkin' 'bout! I don't!" He rolled onto his back, squirming against his bonds. "I swear on m'mam's grave, I don't!"

"Liar!" The voice cracked like thunder.

"No, no, I don't! Please!"

"You know of what happened." A female growled. Was it female? They both looked the same in this forest of darkness.

"Speak," another snarled, stomping a giant footpaw dangerously close to his head.

"No, no, I don't know! We don't know anythin' 'bout wolves! Nothing! We'll leave this forest. I'll never set paw in 'ere 'gin. Prom-!" A paw shot down, yanking the collar of his tunic so that he was forced to sit up.

"You tell me," the voice said slowly, "why you attacked Sluthe."

"I don't understand." He squeezed tears from his eyes. "I don't know what you're-" Something bashed the side of his face, sending him crashing back to the ground in a weeping, bloody mess.

"Filthy beasts." A slimy mix of phlegm and saliva plopped onto his snout. "We know what your kind has done. There is no denying it. We saw the bodies defiling the corpses of our fallen."

"Please," the ferret wheezed again, looking up at the ring of glittering eyes that circled him. "I don't know nuthin' about wolves. We just came here to fight Greymorg. Nothin' else."

"You are no more than another chain-beast," another voice growled.

"I don't... I don't..." Halfleg's head felt light as he rolled his eyes toward the hedgehog that gaped at him. "You gotta tell 'em. You gotta! Please!" The slave inhaled sharply, snapping back to his senses.

"I... think he's telling the truth... sirs," he said meekly. The wolves seemed to regard him from their lofty height before they growled amongst each other.

"There are others we can ask." Halfleg emitted a small pitiful noise before a massive paw slammed his jaws back together, holding them there. Whatever these beasts were, they were truly savages. In the paws of such creatures he could see no mercy nor hope in his future.

* * *

"Idjit!" The wildcat cuffed him over the head. "Run off for three days and you come back with nothing but_ wine__?"_

"Damson wine, Ny," Slyte corrected, ducking his head only to yelp as her fist caught his snout.

"That doesn't make a difference," she hissed, flexing her claws before placing a heavy paw on his shoulder. He flinched at the touch, gritting his teeth, the pressure building as she squeezed. "You are my beast and you always follow through with your job, _got that_?"

"Sure, sure!" Slyte nodded ardently, licking his lips to taste the blood flowing down from his nose. "Whatever y'say, Captain."

"Good. Now tell me what you got," Nyara said icily, her huge palm still constricting his shoulder.

"Uh-huh." He nodded, eyes big as saucers as he rubbed his damaged face with a tattered sleeve. "But your paw- agh!" Her grip tightened to the point where he felt that she was bending his bones. "Alright, alrigh'!"

"Quiet!" she ordered, instantly halving his volume.

"I scaled the walls agin', sure 'nuff. No sweat. Lots of talk, really. Nothing special. Nothing important. Nothing! Nothing at all!"

_"Nothing?!_" Her fur bristled and her ears angled. "You mean to tell me that you were gone for three hellish days and you have_ nothing_ to report?!"

"I dunno, I dunno! I can't think. I can't think 'cuz it hurts." Nyara growled, pushing the marten back. He looked up at her, massaging his throbbing joint.

"More reports, no whining," she sniffed, ignoring Slyte's pained expression as he cleared his throat.

"I have... I have this," he said, pulling a piece of folded parchment from the inside of his jacket. She snatched it from him, scanning the inky layout of the land.

"And what's this? Why is the wilderness partitioned in three? And here-" She smacked the entire Northern region with the back of her paw. "What's this here? What's the Druid? Haien...? Sluthe...? And just who owns those lands?"

Slyte cleared his throat. "Remember that one creature I told you about? They call him a 'wolf,'" he said, emphasizing the foreign word.

"I know what a wolf is!" she snapped back at him. Then she exhaled, leaning back slightly, tail swaying as she narrowed her green eyes. "So... they've got a wolf on their side, eh? Seems like even they can break these days. Who else is part of their alliance?"

"Dunno," he admitted. "Don't see any wolves besides that'un. Fenris, they call him."

"Hm," she grunted. "What else?"

"They said something about an attack... and they said something about their prisoners. They had at least three scores of ours in their dungeons. I was gone for a day, and when I checked back on 'em... they were just gone. Not in the dungeons, not in the burying site, just gone." Nyara's eyes narrowed as a claw tapped rhythmically against the thin paper.

"They've got something up their sleeves," she said, rolling it up and placing it on her table. "I don't like it one bit. Anything more?"

"They mentioned something about a 'Chosen One,'" Slyte muttered. "Not sure what's so special 'bout him. He seems as bright as mud. Just the other day he-" Nyara rounded on him with a frustrated hiss.

"Can't you get any better information?" she snapped.

"I have more," he gulped, finding that his shoulders had shot up to shield his neck. "There's a seer called Sigma, er... and the Ice General has two liddle'uns-"

"Talk about 'King' Ragnar." She snorted, spitting a thick glomp of phlegm at the accursed name.

"N-no real news yet, Captain," he admitted shakily. "He don't do much. He just lounges 'bout and..." the marten fidgeted a bit. "He's boring, that'un."

"Well keep watching him," she growled, turning on her heel to glare at a map stretched out over table, little figurines littered all over the coast. It was an old map, the ink weathered down to the color of smoke, the parchment a heavy orange, the edges shredded and stained. And yet, it was passed down from generation to generation, a reminder of her bloodline's pride. It was probably one of the last things Kyrogue snatched before he fled for the ships, cursing the weasels and swearing his vengeance. Nyara looked up sharply, startling the marten. "I don't care if you dislocate your jaw from yawning, but you watch him- boring or not. You watch every one of those slimy weasels. S'that clear?"

He nodded. "Yes Captain, sir."

"Hmph!" She wrinkled her nose at him, crossing her arms over her chest. "You disappoint me, Slyte. I used t'think y'were worth keeping alive."

"I didn't say that was _all_ I knew, Captain."

"Then spit it out." She leaned closer to him so that he skittered back. "It had better be good."

"Er..." He racked his brains, trying to wrap his mind around a memory that would be of interest to her. And then he remembered. "There's a war on this place... Red-somethingsomething. I dunno, but yore lucky we came when we did. Now their army's in half, fighting somewhere else while they defend here."

"Red..." Her face scrunched in confusion. "R-Redwall?"

"Aye!" He snapped his claws. "That's the one." She blinked at first, as if she wasn't quite sure what she'd just heard. Recognition sparked in her eyes, and then her ears twitched thoughtfully as she flexed her claws.

"Well well. Redwall. Ha!" A sickening sneer crawled over her face. "Fools. Fools, the lot of them."

"Captain?"

"They are idiots to think that they can take the redstone abbey down so easily. The way their pathetic army is standing, they should try again in a hundred seasons- if it's left standing by the time I'm through with it. What luck... at best, we'd win both fortresses... This changes everything." She smiled, a tongue worming around between her upper fangs and lip as if she was trying to recall a relishing taste. Then she whirled on him, her good mood vanished.

"Are you absolutely sure there's nothing else?" The Hell Cat demanded. "Don't disappoint me now."

Slyte paused, holding his gaze at the ground while he sifted through all the useless information he'd so carefully collected. Memories of grumbling wall-top sentries, peering in at the Ice General's sleeping cubs, the slaves the miserably held their tongues as they toiled, the past war meetings. There was just one more thing... one thing that he'd neglected to tell her. Sitting on the high beams, hearing lazy gossip, it all sounded so trivial and yet_...  
_

_"So wha' happened to that Basilisk anyways?" the snow fox asked, stifling a yawn. "'E was supposed to be there t'get rid o' those filthy pirates."_

_"Dunno," the stoat shrugged lazily, "Word 'round 'ere is that 'e finally died. Choked on a slave, 'e did." At those words, the fox stopped to look at his companion, his eyes widening._

_"__No," he gasped in disbelief. Immediately, the stoat swaggered up to him, puffing out his chest as he defended whatever little "honor" he had._

_"Calling me a liar?" he snarled._

_"No no," the fox shook his head so fast it looked like a blur. "I was jus' sayin' that of all times ta die, why now? When we finally need 'im?"_

_"Who knows?" his companion relaxed his muscles and was now talking as easily as he had before. "But there's also rumors goin' round that he's either escaped or trapped in his chambers of death."_

"Slyte!"

He looked up from his thoughts, blinking in surprise at the hulking mass of muscle and fur, the curling sinewy tail, the stern whiskers that glinted like metal, and most of all, the dangerous green eyes. Captain Krieg. The marten gave a sharp gasp before he shook himself out of it.

"What?" She was back to Ny again. "You look like y've seen a blasted ghost." Slyte swallowed. Even now her father continued to haunt him. Whether the assassin believed in ghosts or not, it was undeniable that in death Captain Krieg had made more of an impact on Ny than in life itself. All those seasons of history repeated to her, the countless reminders of Greymorg's treachery, of her bloodline's true rights, had all fallen to deaf ears. And now, he had finally poisoned her to become every inch the likeness of him- right down to the chilling, demoralizing way he regarded his most trusted servant.

"I said," she said slowly, emphasizing every syllable. "Have you heard anything else?"

_What's dead is dead, isn't it? Basilisk, no Basilisk, it don't matter. _The marten looked up to face those eyes._ Hell Cat. Whatever victories she's had before, she's had 'cause of me._

"No."

"Are you sure?" she asked softly, leaning in and bending her legs so that she was nearly eye-level with him.

"Yes Captain," he nodded, averting his gaze. She seemed to study him for a moment, seeing how long it would take for him to crumble under her stare, under her shadow. And then she stood at full height again, nodding to herself with restrained frustration.

"Fine then," she said calmly, sliding back into her seat. She pushed an inviting plate of roasted gull across the table so that it was nearest to him. "Come. Eat. Drink. You did your share of work, Nightshroud." Another one of Krieg's inventions, that.

"I'm not very hungry." Ny looked up as she ripped the leg out of its socket, a thin trail of tendons adjoining the chunk of meat to its original owner.

"Is the store in Greymorg really so full that you can sneak a few feasts without 'em knowin'?"

"I'm not hungry," he repeated, wiping his bloodied snout a little cleaner as he turned away.

"Hold it." Slyte froze, not daring to turn back around to face her. To leave without her dismissal... was that out of line now? "Face me, Slyte. I invited you to eat and you didn't want to, fine. But nobeast told you to leave. Now turn around and look at me." He did as he was told.

"Just remember to watch but never do anything. Absolutely no interference. Keep your ears open for their plans and report to me. No assassinations just yet. Understood?"

It was out of line to ask, but he did so anyways. "Buy why? You want them dead. The sooner those weasels are out of the picture the faster we can take back that fortress." The wildcat ripped a chunk of muscles from the leg, chewing thoughtfully, smearing the grease from her mouth before she answered.

"Good question," she replied, shaking the unclean bone in his direction. "These weasels aren't the usual horde leaders that we've seen and conquered. From what I see, they don't have a horde. They have an army- an organization, a system, a common goal and way of life." She took another bite, her eyes set in a frown that suggested reminiscing. "Y'know... this happened a long time ago, before my father even bought you. I was a kit then, but even I don't remember those seasons. He laid siege on a mountain once. He won. He killed the leader in the end. It was his by rights, but even without their accursed badger those hares just kept coming and coming, drawing the siege out for as long as they needed. He used to tell me that a normal horde would be useless without its leader- a headless snake. But an army like that one had its entire lifestyle and purpose, its own efficient little way of things. Destroy their leader and the next one in line'll step up."

The marten opened his mouth to speak again, but she interrupted him, tossing the bone on the platter.

"Even if you assassinate the Demon King and his Ice General and all who seem a threat, there's no telling what their underlings will do. By the time you've killed them, they'll know they have a spy in their midst. They will have a new leader and he'll be very difficult to eliminate- even for you. As a spy, you never want anybeast to know you exist, Slyte." She made sure he gave a short nod of agreement before she continued. "On the other paw, their underlings might just surrender, let me in their gates, and hand me the reins. But beasts are 'fraid of change. If they don't like the way I do things, they might plan a little surprise. They know the secrets and passageways of Greymorg. They have th' advantage there."

"Why not just kill 'em all just to be safe?" Slyte questioned again.

"Why indeed?" Her lips curled into a smile. "'cause I need an army that knows the layout of the land, because I need an army to expand on, and because I need an army to take a weakened Redwall for me once I'm done here."_

* * *

_

* * *

Useless. Worthless.

That's what these beasts were. No matter how many times they were asked or beaten, they still pleaded ignorance. There must have been something that they knew. Or perhaps they truly didn't know of the attack? Whatever the reason, he was sure that the sea-beasts were responsible in some way and that this Hell Cat of theirs knew of things. Wolves were honorable beasts. They rarely accepted charity, and if they were to do so, they would surely repay the kind gesture in full. The same was with vengeance.

_If the sea-beasts can slaughter and torture with neither shame nor guilt, let us show that us wolves can do the same._

Kokota flexed his powerful claws around the ferret's neck, feeling the warm blood slick his palms. The vermin seemed to be in a daze as he gulped, sobbing to himself as his knees shook, barely propping himself up. The others were in the same state, whimpering and wailing. It was hard to believe that Sluthe was cut down by such low creatures.

They stood at the line of trees, looking down the gentle slope that led to the seashore. But even that was ruined, tarnished by the vermin and all their trash as they milled about with their senseless lives. He used to be able to see the full moon shed its reflection upon the waters, but now that ugly skeletal ship had blotted it completely, seeming to cast its darkness on even Estrel's brightest stars. The wolf leader exhaled slowly as the other wolves herded their captives to the edge of the pine forest. A long line of rope was securely tied at the base of each vermins' tails, mocking the demeaning formation they had their chain-beasts walk in.

Frey passed around the lanterns and flint. The look she gave him wasn't that of triumph.

"You see the water there? All that sea water?" he rumbled to his closest prisoners. They nodded dumbly, merely blinking and shaking as he poured the oil over their heads, soaking the rope in the process. "All that is blocking your path is the camp."

_Clap!_

The spark breathed life back into their eyes as the flames ate at their fur and flesh, pain searing their lifeblood. They howled, running like madbeasts as they beat themselves with their fists in an attempt to smother the fire. The wolves watched, silent with a mixture of horror and fascination as the line of fire raced through the hill and towards the haphazard tents and rickety ships. Even the beasts down below had stopped whatever they were doing, standing there stupidly.

The flames still starved for more, spreading from the singed pelts and to the rope that linked all of them together. It must have looked like a wall of fire, a sign from Gallo himself, to those down at the shore. One of the beasts stumbled, flagging the line while the others plowed on, dragging the fallen prisoner while their desperation for water spurred their strength and blocked their logic.

The line reached the first tents, the scorching beasts battering aside any creature or obstacle that got in their way while the ropes tangled around fabrics and supplies, setting everything alight. The spell broke and chaos unleashed itself. Everyone scattered, shrieking in panic as the wall of fire entangled itself further in the mass of tents. Some broke free of their bonds and managed to throw themselves into the merciful waters while others were not quite so lucky. Those beasts succumbed to death, crying out in despair, writhing in the sand as the fire gorged itself upon them.

The wolves just watched from their vantage point, the flames licking at its feast, growing and spreading like a plague among the helpless victims.

"B-b-but sirs..." They turned around, realizing how sore their eyes were from the firelight. A young mouse looked up at them helplessly, a few others sniffling behind her. They were not supposed to be here. They were not supposed to see this. "But our families were down there... sirs."

They said nothing, did nothing.

"But..." Tears sprang in her eyes as she willed her legs to move, to race down the hill and never ever stop. But a set of arms barred her path, scooping her up around her middle and smothering her screams and sobs. The other captives fell to their knees, weeping as loss overcame their shock.

"Be still," a wolf said as soothingly as possible. "Fear not. The fire has not even touched half the tents." The pitiful creature's cries died down to a whimper as she reached an arm towards the fire.

"But you can't do this!" The leaders looked down at the hedgehog. The spikes on his hide bristled furiously as he ground his teeth. "What have you done? We didn't want this. We didn't want to be a part of _any_ of this!" Kokota looked down, muttering a prayer while Frey replied as evenly as she could.

"Neither did we."

* * *

Ashes, soot, and blood mixed within the sand, giving it a glassy, silvery appearance. The ships were completely untouched, but the same could not be said for everything else. Whatever tents that still stood were quickly fortified while beasts wandered the campsite, picking through the remains of the attack. Sometimes an occasional box or barrel was found, scorched but unspoiled. But mostly, there were the unsalvagable- both in goods and in beasts.

The slave sucked a breath in as his chest made a final, desperate heave, and then it shuddered, the entire body seeming to deflate along with it. Nyara's expression was between a grimace and a scowl as she pulled her spear from the crisp carcass. Slave or not, that was the eighth miserable beast she had to put down. The wildcat had demanded to know where the patrollers were, but nobeast stepped forward. Either they were the beasts set to the torch or they wanted to keep their skins. She hoped it was the former.

Half the supplies gone, plenty of wounded, and morale... she didn't even want to think about morale.

"Captain!" A rat waved her over and she followed, kicking sand over embers where she could. Beasts clustered around a black, shapeless mass, muttering to one another before she shoved them aside, wrinkling her nose at the acidic stench. It wasn't so much the gruesome state it was in that shocked her, but the fact that it actually moved. The captain took a step back as it raised its head slightly before its strength gave out and his head was back on the ground with a cracked groan. Its semblance was more of a withered slug than a vermin.

It didn't have much time.

"Who did this to you?" she demanded. Its lips parted painfully, as if seamed together. And then it opened its mouth slightly, the pink of its gums and yellow in its teeth a stark contrast to the mix of black and deep red on the rest of its body. It held its mouth wide open, gargling a small cry, its one good eye half-open so that it could see the captain's reaction. No shock this time. Only frustration and disappointment and a rage that was barely withheld.

"RRagh!" Her spear's pole was half-buried in his chest before anybeast could blink.

"Everybeast outta my way!" she screeched, kicking aside a half-burnt box. "No disturbances!"

She split the disoriented crowd like a shark through a shoal, leaving her ninth corpse where it lay, its mouth stretched to display the severed muscle where his tongue had once been. "No disturbances or I'll do the same to you!"

The second she'd reached her cabin she kicked the door right off its hinges, cursing every beast and every thing that came to mind. It was hers! It was all hers and now it was ruined. Her tail lashed angrily as she flipped her table and smashed it against the wall.

"Slyte!" she seethed, clenching her trembling fists so hard that her claws pierced her palms. "Slyte!" No answer. "Slyte, I need you here _now_!"

"Here." The reply was barely more than a whisper. She didn't notice the wiry shape lodged in the safety of the corner.

"Get your pathetic, flea-bitten hide to Greymorg. I want those weasels dead."

"But I thought you said-"

"Forgit what I said!" He ducked as a chair crashed through the window. "I want them _dead!_"

"Yes Captain."

"And find out who did this."

"C-c... captain?"

"It's different for Greymorg. They never did anything like this," she snorted, her fur finally beginning to lie flat as her breath slowed. "Either they've suddenly become desperate or they've got allies in those woods- wolves, goodbeasts, whatever it is. Find out the situation."

"Then... Captain, why don't you burn the forest?"

"Fool!" She stomped her foot and his head shrunk up between his shoulders. "Then where will we get our food then? What will we eat when our stores are completely run dry? Now git!" Slyte nodded ardently as he scuttled toward the window. But before he could leave the wildcat, a dangerous thought entered his mind.

"What if t'was the Basilisk?"

The fury in her eyes made him regret it in a heartbeat.

"The what?" Her paw shot out and wrapped itself around his neck, hoisting him up in the air. He squeaked, knees curling into his stomach as his paws clung on to her own.

"No wait! Please Ny-"

She shook him and he yelped in pain. "Tell me what makes you think it's that monster, Slyte. I want to hear it. Is it alive?" she growled. "Because if it is, _I _never heard of it."

"I- I... I forgot," he whimpered. She shook him again and he cried out as his neck gave a violent jerk. Any harder and she would've sent his head spinning.

"How _dare_ you... you..." her face turned a veiny purple underneath all her fur, her nose wrinkling into a snarl as her grip tightened by a fraction. "I'll teach you to hold information from me."

"Ny! Stop! Don't do this!" His plead came out in a half-choke, half-whisper. "Please don't. Not to me. Not to me!"

"How do you know of it? How do you know of this thing?"

"I just- I just heard it!" he choked, trying in vain to dig his claws into her fist, but she barely felt so much as a pinch.

"What did you hear?!"

"I- I..."

"Tell me you wretch or I'll-"

"Ny!" He drew a pained breath, forcing another gasp of air into his lungs. "Please, Ny." It was barely more than a whisper. She dropped him to the floor, allowing him to hack and massage his throat before she crouched down to his level.

"You're going to tell me all you know," she whispered, digging her claws into the floorboard in stead of his neck.

"I..." The marten coughed weakly as he wiped tears from his eyes. "I just heard 'em say t'was dead. Dead is dead, so I din't think o' reporting it."

"Dead?" she hissed, sending him scurrying backward before she reeled him back by his leg. "Dead when? Dead how?"

"Ch-ch-choked on a slave recently. At least, that was the rumor goin' round. I didn't think- I didn't think that it was important t'ya."

"It's important to me," she growled, tail lashing behind her, lifting him up by his ankle so that he dangled aimlessly in the air. "Everything in this war's important t'me. You got that?" He nodded so fast that everything was a blur. "You thank your lucky stars that that thing is dead, Slyte. If t'was the Basilisk, you'd wish you were never born." His eyes went wider- something that she would've thought impossible at this point.

"Now get out of my face," she hissed, tossing him aside. He landed awkwardly, staggering backwards before skidding on the shattered glass. His arm caught the shattered window and he grunted, steadying himself. He exhaled his breath in pain and she could scent his blood as it seeped through a sleeve, dribbling on to the flooboards. "And you'd better kill those weasels. Do it before I kill you."

He was already gone before she could finish that last sentence. Nyara growled, smashing whatever remained of the window. Greymorg didn't do this. Not directly. This was different. They had allies on the other side of those trees and she had to find them. Find out what they were, what they do. And then she would kill them. Like her loyal servant, anything that conceals itself in shadows is physically weak- cowards.

_

* * *

_

He awoke to the bird songs before confusion overtook him.

Kokota groaned, willing movement to his limbs. What happened? Why was he out here? Where was his tent? The wolf sat up, exhaling sharply at the pain on his side. He immediately grabbed at the sloppy bandage-work around his waist, grimacing as the feeling began to seep back into his senses.

But what happened?

He pressed his palm against the ground, struggling to get his knees under him so that he could stand. Something so simple was now a difficult process. His head throbbed and his legs felt like twigs. His vision wasn't so settled either. Why was he alone in such a condition?

_But Frey was here. _He remembered that suddenly. She was worried and crying for some reason. And then he remembered another face. The Alpha was crying too.

"Kota!" Familiar arms caught him before he collapsed. "Kota, you must be still. Rest. Your injuries are-"

"What happened?" he panted. "Why are we here? I do not... remember this."

"Kota." She hugged his head close and for some reason, he'd never felt so small. "I couldn't stop him. I couldn't stop him this time." Her paw brushed his cheek, the touch gracing over raw, sinful, destroyed flesh.

_His mouth and snout was bloody and his entire body was battered. His ears rung so loudly that he couldn't even hear Frey's howls of protest. _

_"I trusted you, Kokota." He looked up as The Alpha spoke to him. The words weren't anything angry, but for some reason, it made the young warrior tremble. "Back then the Elders gave advice and said that I should cast you out. I knew... I knew not to give in to hate so I went against what my heart told me." The old wolf drew his sword and Kokota could hear the blood flushing through his veins. "But now I see that you will bring us nothing but ruin." He took a step._

_"Haien-khan. My intentions..." Kokota tried to shrink back, but the other warriors held him fast and he whimpered as ruthless paws grabbed his ears, yanking back so that he looked up. His neck was exposed and no matter how hard he struggled, he couldn't even do so much as to shield his face or turn away. A ring of eyes stared at his pathetic position. His entire pack was to bear witness to this._

_Kokota's eyes traveled with the sword as it slowly came closer, descending upon him. His mind screamed at him to speak in his defense but something cold touched his skin and sent shivers of revulsion up his spine. _

_"Kokota, fallen from the Wolf's Way, you taint the blood of our pack. May your nights always be cold, your stomach empty, and your heart be heavy." The blade's edge slid gently across his cheek. _

_"No. Please liste-" Something wet dribbled down his swollen face. Too late. He didn't even notice that it had started. _

_"Let your home be the shadows, your companions the crows, your memories a curse, and your name mean nothing." Another cut was added and he could feel it this time._

_The Alpha gnashed his fangs together. "Forget of your packmates, your kin, your love, your warmth. Forget these things because we will forget your existence. Leave us, exile." And for the first time, the wolf tore his eyes away from the cruel steel and saw his Alpha's tears.  
_

The stream didn't need to be still to cast a reflection of his face. The image was distorted and yet, the perfect cross-shaped mark was still visible. _Exile..._ He wanted to know everything just moments before and now he wanted to forget it all. The recollection had hit him like a tremendous wave. He quickly splashed the cooling liquid across his face, accepting the sting that came with it.

The wolf wanted to be alone with his thoughts. And in the end, perhaps he didn't even want that kind of company either.

He could still hear them. He could still hear the chain-beasts. Even after promising them his protection, Haien-khan was not inclined to harbor fugitives- nor did he see it wise to return them to their suspicious and hate-filled masters. To let those creatures off, they would be scattered and snared by the enemy and their tongues would come loose. It could not be risked.

He could still smell the blood as the other wolves did their work with speed, the only mercy they could grant them. The scent was so familiar to what he found from Sluthe's campsite and he was so powerless to stop his packmates. They were weeping for those fallen strangers before they turned on him. And Haien-khan... Kokota shut his eyes and dug his claws into his knees. _He was suffering the most. The survival of a dying pack is so much to bear and I added more to his burden. The knife..._

The knife slid so easily out of its sheath. Without his pack a wolf is dead. When he leaves it, he leaves his soul. He clenched the hilt in his paw. _Such a fool. To think that I could change the pack. To change our cowardly ways. My Fang Brother used to say that I was different, that I had the potential to change it all. Those words filled me with hope and I lived by that lie. Foolish! _

He closed his eyes.

"Stop!" Frey caught his wrist and aimed it away from his heart. He looked at her and quickly lowered his gaze. He couldn't face her. "Your blood cannot bring life back. Are you a coward?" she snarled. "A coward that only runs away? You were different from the rest of them. Fenris said you had potential. And even when he betrayed us, even when everybeast turned their back on you and forgot that hope, I still believed in it. That's because I didn't have my faith on Fenris's words. I had my faith in you. No matter what you did or what you said or what you believed in, you always had our pack's best interest at heart and I was proud to stand by your side." She was trembling now. "I have never left you, so don't leave me," she whispered. "Do not let me become an exile."

"Go back to your kin," he said tersely. "You do not bear the mark. You are a fool to stay. A wolf without his pack is-"

"Never." The words left him bewildered as she wrapped her arms around him. The embrace was tight, as if she thought her mate would slip away like drifting snow. He couldn't see her face but there was a faint scent of tears. "You are never nothing. I am your pack now, as you are mine. As long as you have me, you will never be an exile. You will always have a home to go to_._" The knife dropped with a clatter.

"I was wrong to go against his words," he choked. "I- I was... thought that we would make a change instead of letting the others change us. I was wrong to think that I could act as leader."

"You were not right and Haien was not wrong. Here, there is no choice without suffering nor bloodshed. Nobeast knows what lies ahead of their path but they must always stick to their way, else they stray and wander into shadows. My father went his way and you went yours. He does not hate you for that," she said gently.

"But what now?" he asked hopelessly. "Where do we go from here?"

"We cannot run away now." Kokota couldn't argue with those words.

"Then we go to the Druids," he replied, getting back to his feet unsteadily. "But I do not know how they will greet me... even after all this time."

_"Look at them." Fenris flexed his blood-stained claws, cleaning his blade. All Kokota could do was sit in the ground, cradling the head of a dying wolf. "Helpless, fearful, weak. Why do you cling to them, Kokota? How do you draw strength from such lowly creatures? To throw away their pride as wolves... it sickens me. Follow, Claw Brother. This weakness has always left you frustrated." The huge wolf didn't even wait for a response before leaving. "Or you can stay here. Stay here, die here. You are just as pathetic as them, it seems."_

But those words came after the Madness had taken him. Kokota prayed that it was the Madness speaking and not his mentor. "The packs have to act this time," he murmured. "Wolves do not lie down to be slaughtered. Not this time."

* * *

**Not too entirely proud, to be honest. Except for the very first and very last segment, everything seems a bit unstable to me. I wonder if I described things right or captured the emotions right. Ah well. I'll just take your constructive criticism and make up for the crappiness next time. I believe that I will be working like a crazy person over Spring Break, just trying to get some good chapters in here.**

**Thanks for reading this ridiculously long chapter and putting up with my lateness constantly. Please review (unless you feel that my lack of dedication has slipped and that I don't deserve one... and in that case, review to say that I should get my lazy butt out of the desks at school and hit the keyboard more often). Thank you. :)**


	58. Forest of Death

**Yes it's true, I'm back. :) **

**Special thanks to the following reviewers: csigamer1990, MollyPixie, BladeSniper13, Foeseeker, thedudeman, Addlebrain, Martin the Warrior of Redwall, IUSEDTOBECRAZY, Airan O'Connor, DeltatheWolf, Fwirl of Redwall, DgShadowChocolate, Ala Cye, Jarrtail, and Sanfrasm for updating. I sincerely hope that many of you are still here and interested in the story. I would also like to thank Quavera Tava for his insistence that I finish what I started. **

**Well, I suppose I should give you all a recap:**

**So last time with the group... Brink, Keetch and Sarrow (squirrel) try to cut through the swamp to avoid any Greymorg scouts but end up being attacked by toads and lizards. Keetch also learns that by being a seer he can communicate with Vulpuz and a struggle ensues. Just when they think they are cornered, they are pulled down into the water and rescued by a bunch of primitive tiny toads that need them for protection. The toads know that the group won't leave a friend behind so they send two beasts out and keep one in the underground tunnel as a hostage. How will they get out of this one? **

**And that's what you missed. On with the chapter.**

* * *

**Forest of Death**

* * *

Brink splashed the water on his face, scouring the caked mud that plastered his fur. It seemed that he would never escape this eternal filth. After all, he would return the next day and once again find himself riddled with mud. He had never quite been particularly concerned with his appearances but not being able to recognize his reflection bothered him to no end. The otter found himself smiling wistfully as he recalled his days as a pup, whining and mewling while his mother wrestled him into a tub. The warrior stood up, globular eyes settle on him.

"Get lost." With a turn of his rudder he sloshed water at his curious audience and sent them running.

Whether it had been a week or a month, Brink had enough of the creepy little frog things. Demeaning, stifling, suffocating. Those were the words that would describe his current predicament. And for the life of him, he couldn't understand _why_ it was taking so long to get out of their reach. Keetch had insisted that they wait until they knew exactly what to do and bide their time. But time was running out- not for Redwall, but for themselves. How much longer could their bodies keep up its shape? Their diet of ground-up mush aside, Brink didn't think it would take long for his muscles to atrophy of misuse.

_I'd give me rudder for a tasty fish in my gut._

With a ragged sigh, he plucked a string and his old earring from a pocket and twisted it into a proper arc. And with a sturdy stick, a squirming worm snatched from the toads, and a few small pieces of wood for a bob, he had himself a makeshift fishing rod. With water so murky he had doubts that there was any life down there. And sometimes the atmosphere seemed so quiet and still, Brink felt that even the fish must've been afraid of the water.

Without much thought, the otter tossed his pathetic line and watched the little bob pick itself up from the depths.

He knew that he was in some sort of way "lucky." Today he had fresh air to breathe, the sun to witness, the outside world to meet again. Keetch, on the other paw, was only allowed several minutes outdoors to stretch and exercise each day.

The snow fox had once been a favorite for the foraging, but he was quickly replaced. After all, Sarrow's vantage point from the trees coupled with Brink's aggressiveness proved to be one of the biggest successes for the frog colony. Not only had the casualties dwindled to almost nothing, their provisions in disgusting meat had never been higher. From what Sarrow had told him, a few other frog colonies had begun to merge under their protection. How she could tell them apart, he would never know.

"Sarrow. Sar-row." The archer held a paw against her chest as she repeated her name again. The surrounding toads merely grunted in cheer before they scampered off for food.

"It's tougher than debating with a dibbun," she complained playfully, the mud obscuring her face like a crazed mask.

"Don't you have any watching to do?" the otter barked, sending the toads for cover.

"It can't hurt to be able to communicate with them." Behind him he heard tree branches tremble under her weight in her shy retreat. _Even if that were true she doesn't have to be all buddy-buddy sentimental about it._ "And it doesn't matter if their feelings get hurt. We're still leaving this forsaken scrap of land."

Other than that brief exchange, the forage was uneventful. Roots, grubs, and mushrooms. And nothing had bitten his line. That much stayed the same every time. The toads eventually relieved them of their weapons and herded them both inside with little resistance. The otter felt both a dread and an excitement from the dark passages. Arms reaching forward, he felt as though these tunnels made sense and that he finally knew his way around.

His mind buzzed with anxiety as the toads began tearing his loam cell open. He didn't even give Keetch half a second to register that they'd returned before he confronted the fox.

"We're ready." There was no tremor or doubt in his voice. Only the solid determination that had kept him going all this time. "We've gotta leave now or we'll run out of time. I can't wait forever and neither can Redwall. I've memorized the tunnel and I know it like the back of me own paw. We move tonight."

He could imagine Keetch's face as the thoughts began churning in his head. It never seemed right to the otter that all the fox ever did was think instead of act. True, his brains did some pretty good work once in a while, but it did nothing that some quick punches couldn't fix.

"I know, I know," the fox sighed wearily. "But what else do we know? So what if we escape the tunnel? How do we get our weapons back and where do we go from there? How much farther would we have to travel and what will be the weather? We need to know that first."

"Forget the weapons. We can hold 'em off one t'one if need be. And forget your case of knick-knacks. We need to get out of here and anything else can be replaced later."

"No, we can't," Keetch growled. Brink shrugged it off, but took note of the change in tone.

A clearing throat reminded them that there was another beast in their midst. "I can easily see the end of the swamps from the treetops. I can even guide you the way out," Sarrow said with encouragement. "We can make it if we have a good enough head start. And-"

"Ya hear that?" the otter exclaimed in the fox's direction. "We need a head start which means that you have to _get off your bum_ and make a run for it. I've checked the skies and believe me, it'd be smooth sailing for several days at least. We have to go."

"And how far will we go without any weapons?" His voice was like a bowstring drawing tighter and tighter, more bothersome and bothersome. "A vermin band finds us and what then?"

"I told you! A fist in the face!"

"And that did wonders last time."

"You two, stop it!" Sarrow chided. "If you two would stop your squabbling, I could've told you that I can get your weapons. Easy." There was a healthy pause before she decided that she was not going to get an immediate response.

"While I've been 'wasting time,'" Brink was sure she was glaring at him at this point, "trying to communicate with the toads, I think I can pull together some of the brighter ones to give us the weapons." Of course, the fox had to scrutinize everything.

"And what makes you think that they would trust you?"

"They couldn't even understand your own name," Brink chipped in.

"They do so trust me," she insisted. "And some of them do understand, believe it or not. You just have to give me a day."

"And my case?" The fox asked. "It contains all the medicinal herbs we need."

"They should've all been drenched after all the water we've been through," Brink reminded him, but the Keetch's interest was fixed nonetheless.

"It still holds value."

"I can get it," Sarrow reassured them. "Trust me, I can do this."

"And why would they let you take everything back to us?"

"It's not about getting the weapons back here," she reasoned. "It's about finding out where they keep them. If we're lucky, they keep them close to the exit and then we'll just grab our things when we bust out of here."

"And what if you can't remember?" Brink asked.

"I can," she bristled. "I wouldn't be giving these ideas if I don't think I can handle it."

"Fine, fine," the otter shrugged. But again, Keetch could not be satisfied.

"It's still too risky."

"Then should we wait until they put a coat over our shoulders and show us the door?" Brink spat.

"No," the fox replied. "You'll go on ahead without me."

"What?"

"Are you out of your mind?"

"Just leave during the next forage. They wouldn't even suspect it at this point." The mud squelched as Keetch got to his footpaws. But if he was trying to seem adamant or strong, Brink was not impressed. If his breathing indicated anything, the fox was more pained than proud.

"We are not leaving you in the pathetic condition you're in."

"You aren't in any good shape," Sarrow agreed.

"I'm fine," the fox insisted. "A little bit of walking is all I need."

Brink snorted. "Still n-"

"You aren't leaving me to die," Keetch asserted. "Without the two of you they have no choice but to use me for a change. Once I'm outside figure out a way to catch my attention and get me out of there.

"They won't use you as a guard," Brink snorted. "They'll just get rid of you once you're no use to them."

"I am useful enough," the fox replied tersely. "Brink, they'll be keeping a close eye on me so I'll need your help escaping. Sarrow, you need to scout ahead and find the best paths out of the swamp. And make sure that Brink is safe at all times."

"I can do that." Her tone sounded a tad less than confident.

"Now this is just ridic-"

"And it's important that you know exactly what you are doing before you do anything. Wait a few extra days if you must. We only have one chance at this and we cannot afford to make a mistake."

"Now just wait a minute! Hold it!" Brink yelled. His voice boomed an echo, bellowing into his senses for a snatch of a moment and leaving a faint ringing in his ears. "Now just wait a minute," the otter repeated, softer this time. "Do not tell me that. If anybeast is capable of surviving in this putrid mudpit, it's gotta be me. Now Keetch, you're the one with all the ideas. You can think up something once you're out there."

"I'm hardly strong enough to run, much less fight off a hoard of toads. And the bigger toads and lizards would snatch me up if the little ones don't."

"He's right, Brink." The otter snapped his attention to the archer.

"Sarrow, you're going with Keetch and that's final."

"Don't forget what we came out here for," Keetch argued. "And nothing is final just because you say so. Sarrow and I both agree and _that's _final."

"I refuse to leave!" Brink snarled, though he kept his voice in check. "You won't see me turn tail an' run."

"Brink," the squirrelmaid objected. "Can't you see this is the best way?"

"They can still drag you outside," Keetch reminded him.

"This is madness!" the warrior declared. "No. A thousand times no, and that's final. We don't leave anybeast behind. Not ever."

"Then if Sarrow leaves, that only makes things harder on both of us."

Brink snorted. "She can't leave."

"I can," the squirrel insisted. "And don't forget that if I go, they could just send you out and keep Keetch here. Once they've lost me their guard will be up and it would be impossible for you to break out by yourself." As if on its own, Brink felt his face melt into a snarl.

"You wouldn't dare."

"I would so," she flared back.

"Do that and I'll slaughter as many of your little toad things as I can."

"Stop it." Brink looked towards the direction Keetch's voice came from. Though in this dark, it was an empty gesture. "It's pointless to try to fight it out with me in tow. To do that, we'd have to start from in here and fight all through the tunnels and out of the swamp. We just don't stand a chance by that plan."

Try as he might, Brink couldn't refute Keetch's logic. A lifetime here with these creatures seemed like a fate worse than death and he couldn't imagine Keetch all alone in this palce.

"This is madness," Brink repeated in a muted voice. There had been many a time when they've pulled through against all odds. He was never a staunch believer in luck, but he knew that sooner or later they were bound to make a disastrous turn.

* * *

Sarrow awoke in the darkness to the sound of the crumbling dirt wall and her arguing cellmates. With a yawn she unfurled herself and sat up in her sad excuse of a bed.

"I still think this is insane," Brink scowled.

"Don't forget what we came here to do," Keetch reminded him in that faded voice of his.

"Just save your breath until I get back." The otter stood up. "Sarrow, let's get this over with." The squirrelmaid hopped to her footpaws and headed towards the exit. Despite the dangers she'd always looked forward to her time outside and today she felt as giddy as a dibbun.

"Sarrow," the fox's lonely voice broke her thoughts. "Brink is hot-headed so please make sure he stays alive. And you... you take care."

She paused, turning to his general direction with a sad, encouraging smile he couldn't see. "Just you hang on, Keetch."

Before she could change her mind she left her dungeon and followed after Brink, though she was careful to keep a safe distance. She never thought him to be a threatening figure but his rage last night left her wary.

Little words passed between them as they trodded through their path. It seemed strange to her that now, that of all times, she felt that she knew this place like the back of her paw.

Sunlight came next, a sight always welcome to her. The toads came after, their weapons in their grubby paws. She made sure to take them with a smile, as always, while Brink thanked their company with a snarl and a fierce shove. Without waiting another second he stepped into the light, scowling at the toads as they eagerly darted past.

Sarrow noted the way the toads hopped to and fro with budding confidence. It was a pity that she was going to snatch that away from them. After all, their happiness came at the price of misery and some softer form of slavery.

"Sarrow." A sideways glance and a tilt of the head from her companion urged her up a tree. "You know what to do if the coast is clear." She nodded at that, scaling a tree with ease until she reached the top.

First the squirrel checked the ground, noticing Brink almost directly beneath her trying hard to act nonchalant. Luckily, the toads didn't seem to notice. If it was one thing that they'd learned well it was that eye contact with the otter usually resulted in pain. A quick scan in the other areas gave her all the information that she needed.

She took a long and deep breath, sliding an arrow out of her quiver. In less than a moment the arrow sliced the silence, embedding itself against a tree stump with a _thump!_ Then came a chorus of a thousand rustling leaves as dozens of toads dove into the foliage to wait for their saviors to dispatch the supposed invader. Brink took his chance, rushing into the forest with all the speed his body would allow.

The squirrel followed after him, dodging through the tree line while keeping him in sight and guiding him through the surest path. He splashed through streams, scrabbled over logs, battled webs of branches, and quickly began to fall behind. The archer climbed down the tree, letting herself fall neatly in front of his path.

"We'll stop here and rest a while," she told him. From the way he was breathing she could tell that her timing was quite delayed. _Too proud to ask for a breather._ The otter just nodded and slumped against a tree.

"Did any of them follow?"

"If they did we went too fast anyways."

"How close are we?" he asked, wiping a paw across his brow.

"To the edge. Not far at all." At least there was that much good news. "Just a little farther and we're perfectly safe." Brink stood back up at that comment.

"Let's just walk from here," he said, trying to disguise his panting as a weary sigh.

True to her word, the clearing was very close. They were able to feel the glorious wind even before they could see the extra radiating burst of sunlight. Even the final wall of trees stretched and bowed before them like a gateway to a new world.

"We're free," she whooped, racing out of the miserable swamp and diving into the swaying field of grass.

"Sarrow get back here," the otter hissed. She sat up with a puzzled look. "Don't just run out into the open," Brink warned. "There could be Greymorg scouts up ahead for all you know. Now get back." She opened her mouth to protest but thought better of it and retreated back into the gloomy trees.

"It's going to be dark soon," he observed.

"We should stay in the woods," the squirrelmaid suggested, hopping up on a low branch. "It's not bad cover and we can sleep in the trees."

"What?"

"That's what I said." She swept herself up to the next branch with ease. "Not many beasts look up. We'd be safer up there." If Brink's glum expression was anything to come by, she might as well have said 'standing on your head all night keeps you safe.' "You're not scared, are you?"

"In case you weren't aware, I'm an otter." He jabbed his chest with a thumb. "And last I checked, us otters don't do too good in trees... or sleep in them."

"That's what they'll least expect." She extended a paw to him. "Trust me, I've slept in them plenty of times. I'll teach you how to climb and everything."

"I roll in my sleep," he said flatly.

"I won't let you fall. Promise. When we survive the night we'll go back for Keetch." That last statement sparked some fiery will somewhere in the tired otter.

"Tomorrow first thing in the morning," he vowed, grabbing her paw and planting his foot against the rough bark as he tried to pivot himself upwards. Sarrow agreed with him silently. _That poor, poor fox. I see why you like him so much, Brink._ She urged him onward, goading him farther and farther past his comfort zone. It took more patience than she thought, having to grab his paw for balance and reassurance many a time. He even struggled with the smallest of obstacles, clinging to the trunk like a tick when even a squirrelbabe could scamper through. By the time they reached a suitable spot the sun was just a little glow in the horizon and the otter had littered the ground with dozens of snapped twigs and branches.

"We'll stop here for the night," she told him, taking his paw and guiding him to a sturdy branch wide enough for a comfortable seat. Brink sat down gingerly, making sure to press his back against the trunk, wedging himself between two branches in the process.

"I won't be getting much sleep tonight," he muttered darkly, crossing his arms over his chest.

"It's sturdy, see?" She bounced her knees slightly, causing a tiny tremor down Brink's branch. He gave a muffled yelp as he strangled the branches, breath heaving in and out of his lungs.

"_Don't_ you ever do that again," he seethed.

"Alright." Her giggle was as light and airy as her mood and Brink's scowl softened into a resigned sigh.

"So how do you expect me to sleep all the way up here?"

Without a second thought the archer leaned back, resting her elbows on a branch behind her while feeling the strength of the bough supporting her lower back. "You'll just get used to it in your own time and then you'll find a comfortable position." But the warrior did not quite look convinced.

"We could spend the time talking," she offered. "That always takes the mind off troubles."

"How 'bout we talk when one of us has a plan of how to get Keetch out?" She opened her mouth to speak up but found that she had nothing to say. Instead she sat there quietly, staring up a the distant moon. For hours she contemplated Redwall, Martin, her childhood, her family, how far she'd come. All things come to an end and that was the way of the world. She had always known that, but some childish part of her never believed that reality would ever come to pass. Not when she had Redwall.

At every feast she sat on the smooth, grainy stone floors as she listened to the Quimby's voice tell stories of old. The recorder used to chortle to himself while readjusting his reading spectacles whenever a dibbun asked about magic.

"Magic?" He would say as he squinted down at them, slowly scratching his headspikes. "There is no such magic here. Magic is unexplained, inconceivable. Powers and actions and beings whose origins are nothing and nowhere. Magic is just some word that vermin use for gobbley-gook and things they cannot understand. Leadership, courage, compassion. Hmph! Now that's your _magic_."

She remembered him tottering over to a pillar and rapping against it with his cane. "These walls are strong because our founders were so full of care. Redwall is a haven not solely because of a single sword, brilliant as it may be, but through the work of generations and generations of good beasts. You think these archives had written themselves? Or that the great tapestry was woven in one night? Eh? And the food was certainly, _certainly_ not cultivated by magic, no, but by skilled and passionate cooks and golden harvests."

But no matter what he said, she always believed that there was something magical about the redstone abbey. There was something there that seemed to keep the dangers and darkness at bay. Just because it couldn't be explained never meant that it wasn't real. Many would say that there is no such thing as destiny or fate, but she felt its pull now.

All those seasons, playing with Melo and Tarka, acting out their greatest escapades and heroic feats. It was real now, and nothing at all like she thought it'd be. And yet she felt a lightness in her being and a pounding in her chest. She rewound the muddied scarf around her neck as if that could fend off that electric chill in her spine. And she couldn't help but wonder if this was what all the past warriors felt before a day of reckoning.

A shift in motion disturbed her thoughts and she turned her attention to her companion. "I won't let you fall," she promised. "Just go to sleep and I promise that I'll watch out for you." But he simply pulled his knees tighter against his chest and turned away.

"You're worried about him, aren't you?" The squirrelmaid dropped down a branch beside the warrior.

"He knows how to take care of himself just fine," Brink scowled.

"I'm worried about him," she sighed, leaning against the tree. "But they wouldn't hurt him, would they? Keetch doesn't seem the kind to provoke them." That didn't spark a conversation either. "He doesn't act like it, but he's actually really brave."

"He's got guts," the otter admitted.

"Was he always like that?"

"He always used to be all brains and no backbone. He seems to have both now."

Sarrow giggled at that. "Melo's all backbone and no brains."

"Now that's a truth if I've ever heard one."

"I miss him, though," the squirrelmaid admitted. She would never tell Brink this, but he oftentimes reminded her of the mouse. "When we were dibbuns we made Tarka distract everybeast while we stole sweets. Oh, what I wouldn't do for a honeyed scone..."

"Don't remind me of that stuff," Brink chuckled. Silence ensued as they leaned back further, learning to relax in their new surroundings despite the crisp autumn chill. "I just crave a heaping bowl of hotroot soup right now. Skipper's recipe."

She stifled her laughter with her paws. "That stuff was just _scorching_. Even _hares_ kept well away from it. Did you ever find out the secret behind it?"

"No idea." To her amusement the otter forgot the dizzying height and propped his chin on one paw, letting his other arm dangle uselessly at his side. "But I know that he taught it to Jolin. It wasn't as good as Skip's, though."

"Do you think Rosco learned it too?"

"It wouldn't help anything if he did." Brink cracked a smile at that. "Rosco could burn a salad and not even notice."

"He actually did that once," Sarrow giggled, her sides aching with a long-forgotten laughter. "And Skipper banned him from the kitchen after tasting it."

"The idiot." A couple minutes of contemplative silence ensued and Brink returned to gripping the branches for dear life. Sarrow sighed, sitting down and kicking her legs in the air.

"Say Brink," Sarrow ventured. "Are you mad at Skipper?"

"For what?"

"You know what for," she replied innocently. "You two used to get along so well. He really liked you, y'know."

"He started getting on my nerves in the end," he nodded. "But I think I see why he was being such a pain in the rear."

"He's a tad bit over-protective but he means well. I'm sure that he would have warmed up to Keetch eventually."

"When Hell would freeze over." She couldn't tell whether that response had a note of irritation or wistfulness to it. Sometimes the otter would be sarcastic and then sincere, then sarcastic again. And his humor (what little of it he had) was always so dry. There was really no telling with him. Brink shifted, settling himself into a better position for the night as he draped his arm across his eyes.

"It was easy enough today but it'll be tough getting Keetch. Tomorrow we'll start planning on getting Keetch out of there," he began. "But until then we should get some rest. I'm completely tired out... Are you sure I won't fall."

"I can guarantee it," she yawned, wrapping her tail about her to fend off the night's chill. But doubts started to skirt her mind just as she began to close her weary eyes. She wasn't sure if they could actually be ready tomorrow or the next. _Hang on Keetch. Even if it takes us days, we will come up with something._

* * *

True to his plans, Keetch was brought back out into the open as a guard. Though they seemed far less enthusiastic about their forages, the toads still expressed awe in his presence. But he had different problems other than his popularity.

"Medicine case," the fox enunciated, drawing a boxy shape in the mud. "Mine." The toads grunted appreciatively, stomping on the image with glee. Keetch sighed, drawing it again and holding a paw out expectantly. For all Sarrow's talk on progress and communication, he still thought them to be rather stupid. _They're never going to understand._ The fox held out his paw again, gesturing at the tunnel entrance and pointing at the mud drawing. If anything, he needed that more than an actual sword.

Some beasts get sentimental about weapons, claiming that it was given to them as a gift or that it was inherited. They will even go on about its workmanship and decorations. Regardless, a weapon could always be replaced and the substitute could serve the same exact function. Crude as most may be, there were millions upon millions of weapons out in the world but there were only a few Juska relics.

Keetch recalled his original disbelief when his master had pulled out that old box of bones. Unlike everything else in that cave, she kept it neat and polished. And then Grack would carefully and purposefully lay out those bones in a pattern. He still remembered that iron scent as Clove's blood dripped over the relics. Innocent blood. Cruel and primitive as it was, the engravings on the bones never lied. They told of storms, of Redwall, of far off places, and things about his past that his mentor never would have known otherwise.

"Case. Now," Keetch growled, stabbing the drawing with a stick. Clearly bored, the toads only turned and continued their forage. If the toads ever realized what he needed, he hoped that it would be before Brink and Sarrow came for him. He couldn't go back to them having lost his sharpest abilities as a seer. It would be like traveling while blind. What would happen if they were at a crossroads? Or if there was an unforeseen danger? Whether they knew it or not, getting his tools was a matter of life and death. He would tell them of his 'gift' if he had to, but they were_ not_ leaving without it. If there was any way that he could be of use to them, it was his foresight.

It had nearly driven him mad, staying cooped up in the darkness save a few minutes a day. He was completely useless to everybeast and there just didn't seem to be any purpose anymore. Martin never came to him, and as much as he disliked Veil, he would have preferred their company over that nothingness. Vulpuz, though... if he saw that beast ever again it would be too soon.

He felt something bump against his leg and he glanced down at a little toad, his precious medicine case in its grasp. Had it not been so grotesque he might have actually considered giving it a hug.

The seer snatched the case to himself before opening it and scrutinizing its contents. As predicted, the medicinal contents were all in a ruined and molded state. But that was nothing near as important as what lay in the false bottom. He lifted the wooden divider and to his relief, the tiny wooden box and the little vial of blood were still intact. With shaking paws he took the ornate container and opened it. Amazingly, everything with still in perfect condition. The bones were still a brilliant white and the thin, deep etching nearly indiscernible. The fox nodded to himself, closing the lid as he packed those few valuable items back into the bothersome, bulky case.

Now all there was to do was wait for his companions. He was almost certain that they would come to his rescue on the first day. For the first time Keetch found himself thankful for Brink's stubborn rashness. He would never admit it to the sea otter, but he felt a mix of frustration and absolute gratitude towards the otter's outburst. Despite all of that conviction earlier, the fox couldn't fight back a twinge of disappointment. He had been out all day enduring the anxiety and yet he had seen neither hide nor hair of them.

_Snap._

Keetch's ears twitched and swiveled in the direction of that distant noise. The toads froze in place, making soft rumbling sounds. Some of them edged towards the shelters of undergrowth while a few crept towards him, deciding if they should collect their prisoner or allow him to protect.

_Crack!_

The noise was louder this time and Keetch swallowed. He had at least expected them to be discreet about their attack.

_Snap! Crack! _There was a pause between the noise and Keetch withdrew his weapon to keep his captors at bay. _BOOM!_ A guttered, beastial sound emitted itself from beyond the trees before everything exploded into chaos.

A lizard flew through the air, hissing as it landed on all fours, its claws gouging at the muddied earth. It was easily thrice the size of the tiny toads and the multitude of arrows lining its body made it seem even more menacing. _Sarrow. Of course! That lizard is the perfect distraction._The fox's hopes soared, drowning his horror. In a blur, Brink barreled into the fray, nearly driving the fox into the ground as he sliced at an approaching toad.

"Get up and run!" he barked, catching another toad with his rudder. But the fox stayed fixed in place, gaping at the menace that preyed itself upon the hapless colony. "NOW!" Keetch felt a shove that sent his legs into a frenzied momentum. The masses of toads raced to their nest in a panic while several of the brave things stood in their path with the ambition of recapturing their lost hope.

"Don't," Keetch warned as he chopped one down messily and batted the other away with the medicine case. Two more came after, but they didn't come within a few steps before Brink brought them down. The lizard screeched with malicious joy as he pierced a screaming toad under his claws.

"Keep running!" He heard Sarrow's voice urging them on from above. "Keep running! Oh, it's right behind you! No Brink, don't look back!" Keetch didn't bother to identify the thing hot in pursuit. He could hear the reptile screech to the world as its razor claws destroyed the branches and undergrowth that impeded its path.

"Sarrow! Sarrow, shoot it down," Brink yelled.

"I only have one arrow left!"

A lump of mud up ahead of them stirred, yellow globular eyes locking on them. Before Keetch could even open his mouth the thing leaped forward, knocking the otter sideways. Brink cursed and screamed, wrestling with the solid mass of fat and muscle. The snow fox paused at the sight, forfeiting his head start as the lizard bowled him onto his back. With a cry he gripped his sword, jabbing up with one paw while shielding his face with the other. The reptile screamed and writhed, snapping its jaws uselessly against the ground as it flailed its claws about. Somewhere up above him he heard Sarrow's panicked voice.

Keetch felt some warm liquid ooze over his face and he knew that he had hit an artery. He stabbed deeper, feeling the tremor of impact take hold of the reptile. It shrieked, its muscles rippling under its bloodied scales before completely collapsing. The seer gasped in pain as all its weight crashed down at him. It was only as large as Brink but he didn't think that it would be _so_ heavy.

"C'mon." Keetch felt Brink's paws latch onto his scruff, yanking him out from under the disgusting corpse. The fox released his belongings and kicked against the weight, his elbows scraping painfully against the ground. His legs were nearly free before another distorted shape in the forest revealed itself.

"Damn!" Brink's voice cursed and the fox was released from the grip. "Sarrow we need more arrows!"

"I don't have any!" the squirrel shouted, landing on the ground and brandishing her bladed bow. The fox doubled his efforts of escape, clenching his fists so hard that he was sure he'd pierced his palms on his claws. In less than a second a giant toad came blundering over, nearly twice the size of the earlier opponents and nearly four times the mass. It reared its big ugly head as it tried to clamp its toothless maw on the woodlanders but Brink rushed up to meet his opponent. Despite all its bulk it was surprisingly swift. The warrior dodged a powerful swipe of a paw, diving out of harm's reach.

"Sarrow, get him out of here," he ordered, thrusting his blade through a chubby leg. A monstrous bellow followed while the creature stomped its other footpaws down in an attempt to crush its attacker.

The archer stabbed her bow into the ground, hooking her arms around the fox as she tugged with all her might. For a moment he thought that he was stuck but the weight eased off his knees. Keetch squirmed, heart racing while painfully freeing one footpaw.

"Brink!" Sarrow wrenched her bow out of the mud and raced towards the brawl, leaving Keetch to finish the rest himself. The vermin winced, planting a footpaw against the corpse's snout and struggling in a desperate, backwards motion. Something seemed to eclipse the light and the fox yelped, curling up in defense as the battle raged just above his head.

"Get out now!" Brink yelled. In a moment the otter was standing above him, sword at the ready, bending his knees and bracing himself for impact. The otter deflected a swift blow, so that the monster's footpaws missed its mark and drove itself harmlessly into the mud with deadly force. Keetched panicked, digging his free heel in the ground while scrabbling backward. And with one final pull he wrenched himself free, letting the lizard's lifeless head collapse onto the ground.

Brink gave a cry of pain as the beast batted him away with its moronic strength, knocking the otter to the side. Sarrow quickly took his place, slashing at one of the bulging eyes. The toad belched a bellow that probably reverberated around the entire swamp. Keetch leaped to his footpaws as the toad reared up on its back legs, crashing down on them with all fury. Sarrow dodged to the side, pulling the fox with her.

"Come on! Make a run for it!" Brink shouted, blood bubbling at his lips as he clutched a paw at his side. He swung his sword, pointing towards freedom. "Come on!" Without a moment's pause Keetch broke away from the squirrel and raced back to the dead lizard, evading the writhing, maddened toad.

"Forget it!" the otter ordered. But he was so close now. The fox stumbled forward_, _his paws locking onto the case as he whirled back around and raced back to his group. Another lizard intercepted him, its tail lashing out and connecting on his head. Stars burst in his vision and he blundered backwards, his paw still stubbornly clenched over the handle of the case. His mind clouded over and he heard a savage hiss against his ear before Brink's voice boomed against his consciousness.

"Keep running, you idiot!" Strong paws heaved him up, pushing him forward as the ground thudded behind them. The reverberating danger shook the fox's mind clear and urged him on. He could feel the air burn his lungs, his bones quaking his movements, hear the monsters catching up to them, paws slapping against the mud, the entire swamp seeming to come alive with glowing eyes.

"We're almost there!" Sarrow shouted. Light dazzled them up ahead and he heard cries of dismay from behind. And in one final spurt of speed they surged forward, stumbling into open air and a wall of tall grass. He collapsed right then, panting as he clutched a paw to his pounding chest. Save for the wind, all was silent as the small group hid in the grass with bated breath.

Brink was crouching down, a pained expression stamped on his face while Sarrow was sitting with her legs poised like a spring. The squirrelmaid stood up slowly, looking around.

"We're free," she said in a wavering voice. "We're all free!" Brink sighed and allowed himself to fall on his back, limbs stretched out and a bloodied smile on his lips. The fox stood up slowly, wincing at his aching legs. The feathery breeze and soft setting sun was a sight that greeted him, reminding the fox of the beauties of the world before Sarrow tackled him to the ground in excitement.

"We made it," she cried, as her arms wrapped around him. "We're back."

* * *

**And so am I, for that matter. :P**

**To tell you the truth, I didn't quite like the actiony fighting parts and my favorite part to write were the sentimental things going on in the chapter. I didn't want to rush their escape but I really just wanted to get it out of the way. Writing this story, by the way, reminded me why I stopped fanfiction for a while. I get so wrapped up in the stories sometimes that it's all I want to think about. It's quite a distraction, but I think that I've got a grip on my priorities to the point that I can juggle a hobby and college at the same time. It really says a lot about how much a story has impacted my life if I can remember nearly every name and detail.**

**So without further ado, please review. :)**


	59. Sanctuary of the Next Light

**Hi again. :) Redwall-centric chapter this time. To be honest, this was a bit of a pain to write and not quite my favorite chapter but I knew that I had to let you guys know what was going on at that side of the story. Ugh... I have added so many viewpoints and angles to this adventure that I'm afraid I might have tangled myself in this intricate web. :/**

**Recap: In order to rescue their captive friends, Mirril hatches a plan to try to trick the horde into thinking that Redwall had jewels. They take Baron's treasures and try to bargain for the hostage's lives. They leave a top layer of a chest as actual jewels while filling the bottom with silverware in an attempt to fool Captain Havik, the horde leader. But he saw through that ploy and killed both Skipper Raller and Brook. Reread Chapter 54 to refresh your memory.**

**Special thanks to Jarrtail, Bladesniper13, and Quavera Tava for their reviews. **

* * *

**Sanctuary of the Next Light**

* * *

Baron had never seen such a morose group of woodlanders in his life. If the walls of the abbey could speak, it would talk of feasts, games, and all the little novelties of a carefree life. But now they were lifeless in their daily tasks, all dead stares in the distance. When notified of the slaughter many beasts collapsed to their knees, smashing a fist against the floor and vowing revenge. Others took the news with a glazed expression and some had even given up living altogether. But that was preferable to the constant wailing of some of the wretched beasts.

If anything, the mouse just wanted to have a simple walk and enjoy the autumn weather without the constant reminder of impending doom. But even the brightest little corners of the redstone building were tarnished. Baron sighed at the broken scenery. He imagined that this garden used to be like a shining gem to the abbeydwellers but now it lay in ruin. Benches had been shattered and overturned, the roses snapped at the stalk, turfs of grass kicked up by struggling prisoners. As utterly disheartening as the scene was, it was a vast improvement to the view from the ramparts. It had been dreadful enough watching the carnage spill out the previous day, but seeing the remnants of that massacre still carried a painful slap of reality.

_It was a fool's price._ For reasons he could not fathom, the stupid little abbeybeasts were all so eager to reclaim their loved, acting on stupid plans and ideas. It was not some senseless cluster of vermin that they were trying to bargain with, oh no. While a rabble required a brutish leader, a horde required_ both_ moronic strength _and_ some relative intelligence.

The gentlemouse continued his walk, dodging hurried woodlanders, planks of wood, and buckets of building supplies. They busied themselves amongst the work whether it be collecting the dead, repairing the ramparts, training, making weapons- trying their hardest not to let their eyes wander to the gruesome sight beyond their walls. And sometimes they looked up from their work to send glares in the mouse's direction. But if anything, Baron would only look back at them with haughty indifference. _Say what you may, but just remember that I warned you._

He retreated into the building, finding that his routine walk was doing little to soothe his nerves. There was something oddly irritating about these abbeybeasts and their wishy-washy ideas of peace, simple living, and other nonsense. Perhaps those ideals were the glue that held little villages together and not at each others' throats. It was that kind of thinking that had separated them from the vermin, after all. But this was a different time and different age than the ones of knights, armor, and heroics.

Now more than ever Baron missed Southsward. With its terraced walls, stone citadels, and bustling markets, Redwall was nothing compared to it. And though the beasts that dwelled there had tried his patience in the past, they at least understood propriety- that the rich demanded control and respect. The same could not be said about these simpletons. And now without his valuables his name would dwindle to nothing.

An old rage swept inside him. No matter how much he tried to persuade them, those dull little beasts were fixed on stealing his jewels. And for what? An utter and complete failure. And now those blaggard vermin had run off with murder and his precious valuables. If anybeast was to blame, it was that mousemaid. Miria? Marci? It mattered not. She was the one who came up with the idea of double-crossing the horde. And she was the one who took his jewels for her mad plan.

"The poor dear." He tilted his head slightly at the half-whisper. "She blames herself." He turned to see a couple maids muttering between themselves.

"Mirril just coops herself up in that room," a hogmaid sighed.

"Melo visits her often enough but even _he's_ turned away."

"I don't think she has even eaten a thing since... Skipper..."

"Since those brutes beheaded him," another finished the sentence coldly.

"Oh I just feel _awful _for her." A vole spied him eavesdropping in the distance and shushed the others, narrowing her beady eyes at him.

_And it seems that all the maids here share the same charm, _the mouse thought to himself as he regarded them with a small wave. The abbeybeasts merely scoffed at his polite gesture and trotted away under a hushed discussion. No doubt he had somehow earned their scorn. Baron rubbed the back of his head at the thought, finding empty air where half his ear had been. He sighed inwardly at the reminder. _Another reason to hate myself for coming to this war-torn region._

But then he could hear the sounds of sobbing in the room that the maids had come from. The gentlemouse took a few steps closer, peering into the door. Though empty, he recognized the infirmary almost instantly. Over a few days and careful care, the room had eventually emptied itself out to its spacious state, leaving a sad and lonely figure slouched over a bed, her face nestled between her folded arms. He craned his neck, taking a few small steps towards the maid. Though he couldn't see her face, he had an inkling of who it was.

"E-excuse me?"

She didn't look up at him right away. With a quick dab of a sleeve she cleared her tears. He failed to see the point in that act, though. Even a blind beast would have immediately felt the melancholy in the air.

"Do you need something?" she sniffed. And then her face became that of recognition. "Oh... it's you."

"I'm afraid so."

"You probably came for an apology," Mirril scowled, rising to her footpaws and stomping to the back of the room.

"Well yes, but I was also wondering if you would be kind enough to take a look at my wounded ear," his tone sounded nothing like a request as he took a seat on a chair. But if she had heard, she made no attempt in his aid and kept her back to him, busying herself with a shelf of herbs.

"You have to," he insisted. "It is your duty as an abbey healer to never reject a patient." He had only guessed at that last statement, but from her frustrated sigh he could tell that his assumption was solid.

"Well you're not going to get an apology," she said stiffly. "I did what I had to do."

"It was my property." His voice was slightly irritated by her tone, but he distracted himself with his wounded ear. Many beasts prided themselves in battle scars, but those were the bawdy type that enjoyed a daily tankard of beer at a local tavern. _Otters and the like..._

"This abbey is protecting your sorry hide right now so some gratitude would be nice." He winced as the healer pinched his ear between her thumb and forefinger. "You look fine." It was a tone sour enough to curdle milk.

"Good to know," he nodded, as she released him. "And please forgive my lack of payment, as some sorry thieves have taken my valuables and..." A sniffle interrupted him and he noticed her shoulders shudder.

"Erm..."

"Just go away." She covered her weepy face with her paws- a pathetic way to conceal herself as she sat down next to the window. Baron remained where he was, gingerly watching the mousemaid as her body convulsed in sorrow. He was never good with troubled beasts- let alone grieving maidens. He was requested to leave, but it was more like a gentlebeast to attempt to comfort her.

The mouse sat down awkwardly next to the weeping mousemaid, inwardly questioning what ever possessed him to approach her in the first place. Perhaps it was to remind her that he warned that this would happen. Or perhaps he wanted to see how she was coping. The death of those innocent beasts was brutal to say the least. He had expected that much of vermin, but all the same the sight made him queezy. It didn't matter which side of the wall he was on. Both sides were shrieking- a terrible, primitive sound ingrained in their instincts.

"Was that your first experience with bloodshed?" She didn't respond but this level of ingratitude was expected. It was a gruesome subject to be sure, but no matter how touchy the topic he wished that somebeast spared the time to discuss this with himself. "It is terrifying, is it not? Believe me, the first time I slew somebeast I h-"

"Leave me alone," she muttered, deflating the conversation.

"Very well," Baron consented, standing up to take his leave.

On hindsight, perhaps his past exploits were not the most comforting of stories. And even if he was going to give her his condolences it seemed pointless if she was unwilling to accept them. From the looks of things, it did not seem personal. Everybeast who was brave enough to look upon such a forlorn face probably tossed her sympathies left and right. "It wasn't your fault." "You tried your best." "It was a very brave effort." As likely as not, they had salted the wound before she burst into another bout of tears. Besides, the gentlemouse had severe doubts that all the empty words in the world could possibly lift her spirits. Regardless of this, he found something new to mention.

"Never mind the jewels." He placed a gloved paw against the door frame. "I still have plenty more at my own disposal."

"I don't care about your jewels," she sobbed. "Just get out." The mouse nodded to himself, leaving the room and entering the Great Hall.

It certainly was great, but the extravagant architecture was lost on him as he walked through the multitude of injured and hopeless. And for whatever reason, the sorry state of that pitiful Mirril mouse kept rising in his mind. _How did I get mixed up with these beasts anyways?_ He cursed inwardly at his stupidity. He had lingered here too long and he missed his window of escape. Now he was trapped here in this hopeless siege. And for what?

A brilliant gleam caught his attention. He stopped in his tracks and found himself in front of a woven tapestry of impressive quality. Of course, the entire abbey was adorned with the weavings but he could see the extra care and detail put into this work. The mouse standing on it seemed real enough to come alive and even the defeated vermin looked like they were ready to leap from their world of threads in a fright.

"I am that is," he read the inscription aloud. It didn't make the least bit of sense to him. He took a step to leave but some sunlight broke through the clouds and struck metal, hurting his eyes with a flashing blaze of fire. Squinting, Baron looked up and saw a simple sword, idle and lonely in its place above the tapestry. As far as the gentlemouse was concerned, it had a perfect and stately position on the wall but it was nothing worth a second thought. If anything, the way that the abbeybeasts seemed to treasure that antique only made it clearer that these country bumpkins didn't have any wealth.

"Tha's Marthen's sword, burr aye." He turned around to be greeted by a mole. Bulky, blundering, and filthy as they were, the mouse appreciated a polite conversation. Judging from his poor treatment the last couple of days he doubted that he would partake in a civil discussion any time soon.

"M.. I beg your pardon, but you said Martin?" That name certainly sounded familiar. _Ah. That name was tossed around during the abbey conference._

"Our legen'ry warriur, ee is." Charming as the mole's smile was, Baron felt that it was quite unsettling amongst all the grim faces.

"He is, is he?" Baron feigned interest, humoring the informing creature.

"Ee's gott'n a new champyun pick'd oot. Oi knows et," the mole placed a gigantic scaly paw against his chest to express his sincerity. "So don' you worree yoreself, Zurr Mouse."

"I am sure he has," the mouse nodded. Whoever this new hero was was, he didn't care. From what he gathered from travelers, these beasts were a superstitious lot. He still remembered that strange fox and his absurd claims of the dead mouse giving orders through dreams.

"Moi name's Foremole Dirrig," the mole grinned. "You'ms new to th' h'abbey so doan you'ms hes'tate to ask me no questions. No zurr!"

"Why thank you, Foremole. My name is Baron. Baron Pierce." The mouse offered a gloved paw in the form of a pawshake. The mole obliged, enveloping it within his powerful, clawed appendage before shaking it delicately. The gesture was more powerful than he had anticipated and it took all of Baron's discipline to maintain his stretched smile.

"Noice to see some proper mannurs," the creature chortled. "'Tis a sad pi'y you's bee on a vis'tin in a bad toime." His forehead furrowed over his beady eyes a little as he shook his head. "You just missed a good ol' feast, naow 'fore you came poundin' on our doors. And then thee vermun came sproutin' oop like daisies in the springtoime!"

"Yes," the mouse agreed tentatively, not quite sure as to what he was agreeing with. Even in Southsward he found the moles' gibberish to be hard to understand.

"But 'sides ee awful vermun ootside, there's plenty of koind beasts runnin' aboot and doing hard work. 'Ould you loike to join me an' moi diggin' crew with some oopkeepin?"

The mouse raised a brow at that. "Upkeeping?"

"Just cleanin' oop the mess that those villyuns left behoind."

"Ah," Baron sighed. "Well I am sorry but I must decline from this offer, really. I just-"

"Nothin' wrong with gettin' a likkle bi' o' dirt on yore paws, Zurr Mouse," the mole interrupted gently. "Ee h'abbey would appreciate a bit of work now and ag'in." It was as if some internal string holding the mouse's composure had frayed dangerously within the past few seconds.

"I beg your pardon, but I think I have helped enough," Baron replied, wrinkling his nose. Perhaps it was too soon to assume that the stubby little creature had some good form. "If you recall, I had the good heart to warn you abbeybeasts about the oncoming army. And please do not forget that it was with my jewels- _my_ personal belongings- that you were able to attempt that petty trick that landed your friends in that mess. Still, you beasts treat me with disgust."

"You din't know'em, but et bee best t'show some 'spect for the po're loives," the foremole said quietly. "Jewls and gems be just shiny stones, burr aye." The mouse stood with reserve, shaking his head as he leaned against the wall.

"Well I am sorry about your loss," he said carefully. "Believe me, I am."

"But you'm doan' need t'go running 'boot loike you doan't care," Dirrig sighed. "Redwall bee's a place fer some help and compass'n when needed. We can't make you do nowt, but you'm bee welcum t'help." The mouse nodded solemnly at that.

"But oi's best be going naow," the mole sighed, giving him a sad smile. "Soil's best fur diggin' in th'evenin'. You enjoy yourself, Zurr Mouse."

"I will," he replied. He made sure that the mole had his back turned before he pulled a handkerchief from his breast pocket and began cleaning the dirt off his glove from that paw shake. But then again, it seemed a pointless habit considering what he was planning to do next.

"Erm... And would you happen to be carrying an extra shovel?" he called. The mole turned around with a kindly expression.

"More'n enough, gudd zurr."

"Then I suppose, given the formal invitation, I should join you then," Baron sighed, easing his arms out of the sleeves. "Now where should I leave my coat and gloves?"

"Just leave'em 'twenn ee candles o'er thurr," the mole chortled, pointing to the table in front of the tapestry.

"But- you just leave it there?" Having shed his adorned clothing, the gentlemouse was nothing more than a simple creature clutching onto his meager belongings- nothing unlike the rest of the abbeybeasts.

"Thurr bee nobeast t'take yore things," Foremole insisted. "You 'ave moi word of honor."

With reluctance, the mouse followed the suggestion, glancing back up at the tapestry and the gleaming sword. And for just a quick second, a trick of the light, he swore he saw the corners of the mouse's mouth curl into a warm smile.

* * *

Jolin hugged her knees tighter against her chest as she sent scalding looks towards the passing vermin rummaging through the entire holt. They took the food, splintered the furniture for firewood, and even had the gall to lounge about in their homes. These creatures had no respect for honest beasts, hard work, life, or any of it. All they lived for was for the next slaughter of innocence. She wanted to throttle the lot of them.

The abbeybeasts would not have approved of the thought and she found that more foolish than anything. It was a noble way of life, pacifism. But all their claims of the goodness of the world and of peace were shattered when the vermin came back with bloodied steel and Skipper's head.

The ottermaid remembered shrieking at the sight but anything after came in snippets of memory. She recalled screaming bloody murder as she sprung to her footpaws. Her claws snagging on flesh. A ragged scream. Clenching her jaw hard on an arm. Blood and mud mixing together as she hit the ground. But more than anything she remembered her poor uncle's mashed face.

Her hide tested the sting of the lash after that but she endured with neither shame nor regret. Not even so much as a whimper passed through her lips. And for the past three days she had been clapped in chains and isolated from the rest of the captives. The ottermaid had once felt the illusion of safety amongst them but now, strangely enough, she preferred it this way. Without them there were no questioning eyes or pleading looks. No stares that whispered "They could have lived if not for you."

And it was true.

In a desperate bid for her life the otter chieftain had foolishly jumped into a trap to save her. And if anything, Jolin regretted not stepping forward when her name was called. With a soft sob she remembered the engagement ring that Brook had left in her paw. In her short-lived brawl with a vermin she had lost it somewhere in the mud. But she had lost everything anyways. How much more harm could the loss of one little trinket possibly do?

Twigs snapped and she twitched her ears at the approaching rustle of foliage and pawsteps. They were coming for her. More torment for their little rebel and there was no point in trying to hide behind a tree or look away.

"What're ya starin' at?" boomed a familiar voice. More than anything else in the world she absolutely despised Havik. Every time she saw that rat's hideous face her uncle's lifeless head came to mind. Without a sound she heaved herself up on her footpaws, never once taking her eyes off of her captor. At least this way she would be closer to eye level; but the rat looked down at her regardless.

"I asked ye a question, wench."

Jolin bit her lip before making a hesitant but bold reply. "I don't answer to cowar-." A sharp slap finished her sentence, followed by a shove that knocked her back down.

"What have these three days done for ye, eh?" Havik stomped a meaty footpaw on her length of chain as he dug a heel on her rudder. Jolin clenched her jaws and squeezed pawfuls of grass in her fists. "No food, no shelter, no company of wailing beasts, y'get yore water from the passing rain. The way y' act I would say y' prolly enjoy it." He shifted his weight, driving his heel further into her tail.

"I don't care what happens to me anymore." She looked away to squeeze a small tear from the corner of her eye. "Beat me, starve me, kill me, see what I care." The tear fell and the ottermaid glared up at him with a look like thunder. "The only thing I want left in this world is to see you suffer." He kicked her so hard in the gut that she almost regretted that last sentence. Almost.

But Jolin whimpered despite her resolve, hugging her stomach as she curled into herself. To her shame the rat clearly enjoyed her little moment of weakness. "Lucky that Greymorg's a little short on female riverdogs or else I'd have yore 'ead on a pike."

"Like you did to my uncle?" Her tone was less challenging but it was by no means meek.

"Oho!" He released her tail as he clapped his paws together heartily. "So th' Skipper's yore uncle, eh?"

"_I'm_ the real Jolin," she declared, her own voice a furious cry that she herself couldn't even recognize. "The one that you slaughtered the other day was just an innocent, brave maid. So you wanted to break his spirit by killing his kin? Well there's me so go ahead. Get it over with and kill me before I throttle you into Hell's Gates myself." She was breathless at the last sentence as she willed him to make a move. If he so much as raised a paw against her she would have gladly died to bring him down. Instead he gave her a cold, regarding look from his height.

"Now that would be a mercy killing," he said smugly as he made a waving motion with his paw. At his beck a young, disheartened ottermaid approached with a tray of food. Neither of them exchanged a glance as she stood and awaited orders from the vermin.

"Put it on the ground," he barked at her and she instantly obeyed with downcast eyes. Jolin could feel the rage burn up deep within her very bones. Not just at the captain but also at the quailing little captive that succumbed to this. Had everybeast stooped down to this level just to cling onto their lives? Her own life wasn't even worth a thing to her in chains.

"I'm not hungry."

"We'll see 'f that's true when I git back t'ye tomorrer," Havik replied as he left to do whatever business a warlord committed himself to. The ottermaid shuffled after him as Jolin watched with baleful eyes. Once they were out of sight she studied her rations at her footpaws. A cold heel of bread and a scrap of fish. Her stomach rumbled and she took the bread in her paws.

She could not help but wonder if this what Brink felt when he was in the slave galley. Did he feel this spiraling hopelessness? If he did he failed to mention it, but he did not have this sense of loss either. He knew that somewhere out there his family was alive and well; the same could not be said for her. And Skipper had lost his beloved but never his freedom. Not until the very end at least.

A single tear splashed onto her wrist and she wiped her eyes furiously. If the vermin caught her crying that would be the end of it. There was no Tarka to talk with. No Rosco to cheer her up. And no Skipper to cup her cheek in his paw and brush the tears away with a gentle thumb. Those days were long gone and she had doubts she would ever see her brother again. But if there was a Dark Forest, surely she would see her uncle there.

Her dear and beloved uncle.

An involuntary sob was all it took to shatter her silence and bring her to a bout of tears. It didn't matter if the vermin took notice or if the slaves could hear. All she knew was that she would never stop grieving.

* * *

She didn't know how long she wept that day. The ottermaid had tried so hard to keep a strong face and the shame of her failure only spurred more tears. Jolin's next recollection was waking up to a crisp morning, the sunlight glimpsing over the leaves, blinding her vision and memories. And for just that one brief moment she thought she was still waking up into a new and peaceful day. But the aches and chills overtook her slumber and filled her with heartbreak.

The bread was uneaten and crumpled between her paws, glittering with morning dew. She uncurled herself slowly, gently working out the knots in her muscles. And all this while she couldn't help but smile. It was a funny thing, starving one day and then the next, realizing that no amount of food could fill anything.

_Chirrup!_ She gasped, craning her neck upwards to see a little speck of blue among the trees. It chirped at her again, its head cocking this way and that as it blinked curiously down at her. The ottermaid swallowed back the urge to call to the bird. Should the vermin find it, no doubt they would shoot it down to fill their guts for just a few days. Jolin glanced around, barely noting Havik pacing in the distance, cursing and waving parchment about while his minions stood still, watching like pawns on a chessboard.

"Come here," she beckoned to the visitor. "Please." The bluebird kept its distance, inspecting her before hopping down to a lower branch. Jolin looked about her, desperately trying to find something shiny. Somebeast once told her that crows loved jewels and sparkling objects. Her paws wandered to her crusted bread. _This will do._ She crushed it to crumbs, holding her palm up to the bird. Perhaps all this while it was hungry. It had to be the only reason why it decided to perch over her instead of wander elsewhere.

"It's cold out here." She licked her cracked lips. "All the berries are shriveling up and the insects are all in hiding. But some bread will do."

Slowly but surely the bird fluttered down to her, stopping just a few meters from her. The ottermaid smiled encouragingly, spreading some of the sandy crumbs onto the ground. The little bird pecked at the meager offerings, making sure to keep an eye on the suspicious creature. Jolin remembered the times she used to sit at the abbey courtyard, tossing seeds and crumbs to the passing birds and watching as they hip-hopped and fluffed their feathers. But the light of the memory dimmed and she felt cold again. It seemed like a lifetime ago.

In either case, the arrival of the bird was like seeing an old friend again. A reminder of what had been. She leaned back, pouring a tiny mound in the dirt for the little creature. There used to be a time when Redwall had the sparrows and there was once a bluebird that aided Martin the Warrior. Even a falcons and owls made themselves available to help with the woodlanders' cause. And now she couldn't help but wonder what happened to the bond between beast and bird.

A thought dawned on her. If the bird was from around here then perhaps it was familiar with Redwall. The area was always a popular roosting sight for songbirds, after all.

"Do you think you could send a message, little friend?" Jolin asked softly. She only lamented the fact that she did not have ink or paper with her. "I'm sure that they would give you plenty of bread. Do you understand?" To her delight the bird hobbled closer and studied her further, giving her a look that she thought contemplative.

All too soon the bird exploded into a flurry of feathers and frantic wingbeats. The ottermaid nearly jumped out of her fur as the creature sped away into the air and out of sight. She sat back, frozen in surprise. A force gripped her by the scruff of her clothes and dragged her up; it took all of her willpower not to shriek.

"What're yew doin'?" somebeast barked. His foul breath misted behind her neck and clouded around her nostrils.

"N-nothing." She stretched her footpaws, trying to touch the ground just beneath her.

"I 'eard yew talkin,'" the vermin accused.

"Just praying," she said quickly.

"Puh." Her captor released her so roughly that she almost couldn't catch herself on her footpaws. The manacle around her ankle jingled merrily as she steadied herself against a tree.

"Then y'd better pray for the captain to be in a better mood," a second voice snorted. She turned around and saw a stoat and snow fox, the latter holding a spear and the other a key. Relief flooded through her in an instant. Doubtless Havik would have seen through her lies in a heartbeat. The knowledge bolstered her confidence.

"Throwing a temper tantrum, is he?" Her retort was returned with a swift backpaw to the cheek. She didn't even make a sound or take so much as a backwards step. _Not half as strong as the captain._

"Shaddup 'f y'know what's good fer ya," the stoat snarled, yanking at the chain. Jolin opened her mouth but thought better of it, allowing some silence so that the slaver could undo the cruel piece of metal fastened on her footpaw. The iron gave a little shudder as it fell uselessly to the ground, the clasp wide open like a hungry thing.

"Is my isolation over?" she asked, trying her hardest to hold the anxiousness from her voice. She hadn't been eager to see the others, but she needed to let them know about the bird. Yes it was just one bird and she didn't know if it would come again, but they had to know that she had a small plan. Just the faintest glimmer of hope.

"Only cuz we need more slaves workin' and not on their lazy bums." The fox slapped her above the tail and she whirled upon him with fury. But before she could land a blow he caught her fist, neatly tripping her with a swipe of his footpaws. She landed awkwardly on her hip, stifling a gasp of pain.

"Tha's what yew get, riverdog," the stoat spat. "Best start likin' the part of a slave." She gulped back the curses lodged in her throat, setting a footpaw under her to raise herself back up but the butt of a spear jabbed her in the rib. The ottermaid inhaled sharply, flopping down on her side and curling herself.

"We did not say y'could get up," the fox said with a cruel grin. For a second she thought of Keetch but banished the worry. _Brink is fine if Keetch is there. They'll stay out of trouble. Now I need to do the same._

"C-could I..." she grit her teeth as she pressed a palm against her throbbing side. Propping herself on an elbow, she licked her lips, wary of the spear butt hovering over her. She was ready to endure the bitter words. "Could I please stand?"

"And _what _are our titles?" the stoat heckled.

"Masters," she said flatly. The very word itself drenched her spirits in revulsion.

"On your footpaws then," ordered the stoat. The slave obeyed as proudly as possible while keeping her chin held high. Both beasts only regarded her with a contemptuous look before turning towards their path.

"That's a good slave." The fox patted her on the cheek and she held herself back from spitting on his smirky face. Other than that the short walk was uneventful save for the hushed bickering. Jolin pricked her ears, failing to pick up some words while remaining inconspicuous at the same time. It really was a wonder how such beasts had ever brought down a warrior as strong and noble as Uncle Raller.

The minute she set paw at the camp she could feel the gaze of miserable beasts settle on her. The ottermaid returned the glances, though her eyes told of defiance and dignity rather than defeat. _Encourage them. Embolden them. Strengthen them. _That's what Skipper would have done. That's what any brave beast would have done. Still bickering, the slavers used some rope to tie her to a post and she accepted the position without so much as a peep.

Instead, she took the time to scan her surroundings. Some of the slaves were busy weaving fishing nets, a few maids and otterwives washing bandages and cooking while the males pitched tents at a sluggish pace. The vermin, however, seemed restless, sending sideways glances towards each other and speaking in hushed whispers. She leaned herself as far as she could towards the discussion, closing her eyes and trying to focus on the words.

"... but without reinforcements..."

"... cold winter... shelter would be scarce and..."

"Corsairs and abbeybeasts shouldn't be s'bad t' handle. 'Sides..."

"Captain... making final call with..."

She craned her neck, trying to hone in on the conversation, not even realizing the beast hurriedly approaching her.

"Jolin. Jolin, is that you?" She jolted, whirling around as a firm paw cupped her shoulder. "Oh thank goodness you're alright," her assailant breathed, wrapping her in an embrace.

"Wade?" The familiar face brought a wash of relief. Had her wrists been free she would have gladly returned the hug.

"Everybeast was worried about ya." The otter released her, just noticing the bruises and cuts that riddled her face. "Aw no..."

"It's nothing important," she sighed, swiping her budding tears away with a scabby palm. "But what's happened since I was gone?" She scanned the camp ground again, witnessing weepy beasts and broken slaves as they milled about and did their work. Strangest of all, she noticed the little rabbit applying a bandage to the arm of a snow fox but quickly turned her attention back to Wade. "And what about you?" she asked him. "What happens when they catch you talking to me?"

"Skipper would've had my hide if I wasn't taking care of ya," Wade whispered, his expression darkening. "Now listen, because this could be good news for Redwall. For some reason the army is thinkin' about pulling out."

"What?"

"Aye," he replied. "Rumors of another army. Something 'bout lack of reinforcements and some trouble up North. But whatever's causing it, it's putting the captain in a storm of a mood."

"But then what happens to us?"

"They send us packing up North."

* * *

**One of the weird things that happened after a year of hiatus was that I realized how my priorities on characters were jilted. Should have paid more attention to Wade in previous chapters and I'm paying for that now. . This was a weird chapter to write, partially because of the mole speech. **

**Thanks for reading and please review! :)**

**~Jade TeaLeaf**


	60. Knives and Shadows

**Hi guys! My 3rd chapter in the past month! Whoa.**

**Anyways, special thanks to those who reviewed for the last chapter: Quavera Tava and Bladesniper13. Thanks for sticking with me even after the hiatus guys. It means a lot. :)**

**Also, I have a poll for you guys if you would like. Please tell me which narration is your favorite: Brink & Keetch, Redwall/Jolin, Greymorg/Corsair, Wolves.**

**Recap: After annihilating an entire wolf pack, Greymorg framed the corsairs for the heinous crime. In retaliation, some rebelling wolves acted against their leader's orders and retaliated against Captain Nyara the Hell Cat. Their attack was completely misguided, however, and now the wildcat wants revenge on Greymorg and has ordered her best assassin to murder the weasel royalty. For more refreshing please refer to Chapter 57.**

**This chapter is named after a track from the Fullmetal Alchemist OST.**

* * *

**Knives and Shadows**

* * *

Fenris pressed the sopping cloth against his neck, sensing the acrid, tangy scent of blood mingle with the air and water. The wound was still pure and lacked the heat of infection. But it had been at least a moon since he had left the Sluthe pack in ashes and ruin. Surely it should have begun to mend by now. Or at the very least, it could have stopped bleeding.

He soaked the rag in the basin again, watching as the blood clouded the water in faint pink tendrils. It was not worry that filled his heart. Nor was the feeling like the fear of death that so often plagued King Ragnar. Rather, it was more of intrigue. It had been a long time since a beast had been able to draw his blood- much less scar him.

A familiar scent wafted in his nostrils. He did not need to turn around to greet his visitor.

"You know that I am here, do you not?" asked a silky smooth voice from the other side of the door.

"Your scent of smoke and herbs is overwhelming," the wolf answered flatly. "What brings you to my quarters, healer?"

"May I enter?" Sigma inquired. He did not like her voice. There was always something of honey in it- a cloying and untidy liquid that masked the true taste and deceived the tongue.

"Enter," he ordered, dabbing a dry cloth at the open wound. The vixen did as she was bid, albeit her entrance was odd. She pushed the door slightly ajar only wide enough that she could barely squeeze through, just as though she wanted to leave her own shadow outside the room. That was one of the many mannerisms about the vixen that the wolf did not care to understand.

"Now what do you want?" His voice was as gruff and as frustratingly impassive as usual.

"A chance to see that nasty cut on your neck, High Captain," the vixen said with a slight bow. "A good healer understands the mark of broken skin and a seer feels the pain of the beasts around her. Luckily, I am both."

"This is nothing painful," he growled softly.

"But it will be." He said nothing at that and she only motioned him to his bed. As usual, he refused, preferring to tower over her and faze her with his golden stare.

"The General sent you." It was not a question, but a statement.

"Yes, yes," the vixen nodded, smiling up at him with narrowed eyes. "You know him well."

"I refuse your treatment, healer."

"Do not forget that I am also a seer," she crooned. "I see a wound but I also see a curse." He tilted his head, but if he was at all curious by her words he had yet to show it.

"Are you superstitious, wolf?" The vixen gave him an ivory, toothy grin.

"You are the seer," he rumbled. "You tell me." She laughed at that response. A soft sound, that. Soft and laced with venom. The silver wolf shoved the door open to leave. It did not matter if Sigma stayed or not. He had nothing of value in his possession to begin with.

"The wolf that inflicted that wound is after your heart and soul," she called after him. Fenris halted in his tracks.

"You may think that impossible but the deadbeast is marking his vengeance with your blood. It will not stop until all your blood is spilled." A twitch of the ear, a shift in the tail, and without a word the wolf left the vixen to her prophetic nonsense. The packs were always wary of their traditions and their sights into the unknown; even Greymorg's foundations were also built upon such a dubious belief.

Countless beasts had tried to interpret the stars, claiming to have a gift for such knowledge. Wolf and vermin alike, such a claim was only a ploy for the weak to gain status and attention. While a healer held its own values, a seer only maintained some self-ordained arrogance that they found comforting. It was folly, trying to explain things that are already so simple.

The strong will live and the weak will die. That was the only truth in this world and as far as Fenris could see, Greymorg was the only strength of the north.

_There._

It was the sensation of walking into a veil of cobweb- when one is aware of some tangible trace but could not see it. One step too late did he realize the shift in scent. He stopped abruptly, stepping back in place with his nose raised high. He breathed deep, closing his eyes and trying to reclaim that trail. Several beasts began marching in his direction but a barking growl was enough to turn them back to where they came.

It was a thin, weak smell. It stank of brine and dust, but also with a mild, sweet aroma of firewood. The wolf wandered around a second time, and a third, lifting his nose and trying to make sense of the new challenge. But it was too late. The scent was drifting away and he could find neither hide nor hair of the creature responsible. Fenris had been a part of the ranks for nearly a decade, learning by heart the scent, sound, movements, and voice of every noteworthy beast in Greymorg. And then he had caught a whiff of that new scent several times over the span of a few moons.

It puzzled him, and for the first time in a long while he felt a gnawing hunger- a longing for the hunt.

* * *

Slyte knelt against the wooden beams, conscious of the heavy bulge in his pocket. It was not killing that bothered him. He had poisoned male and female, warlord and watchguard alike and he had never lost any sleep over the deeds. It was what was necessary in life, after all. If not them then he would be next. But what frightened him this time around were the weasels themselves.

The pine marten could not put a finger on it, but he felt terrified simply by being within ear shot of them- particularly the king. He shook his mind clear. King or not, frightening or not, he was still just one beast. _Well, he and his broth'r make two._

For the past few days the assassin had tried to plan their deaths as a simultaneous event but that proved too tedious. The brothers never dined together and hardly interacted, if it all. To kill one would open the next victim to suspicion- a messy affair that he would have to work around. But no matter. He would just have to kill them both in quick succession. It was tricky business but nothing that he couldn't handle.

_But who would be first?_ If there was one beast that he absolutely had to destroy first, he knew it was the younger brother. As far as the pine marten was aware, the king did not fill an essential role to the fortress.

It was a puzzling thing, though. From what he'd seen, siblings of power had the nasty habit of massacring each other. But what kept these two weasels at the point of toleration was beyond him. He would have liked to explore this family dynamic in a little more depth but Nyara had given her orders.

_Ny._ He shuddered at the last memory he had of her. Narrowed emerald eyes, fangs bared, flinging him upside down and sideways like some rag doll. Recently he had found that with each accomplished task her demands grew heavier and her compensation scarcer. In the past she was sure to give him time to rest, time to heal, time to explore.

He might have even dared to say that she was fond of him.

But those days were far behind them. They were no longer youths under her father's watchful eyes. The pine marten smiled at the hazy memory. A whelp in a wooden cage, he was so frightened then. He had never known the life of a slave before that. He was a performer in his tiny little island, proudly demonstrating flips and tricks for the visiting pirate lord. Oh how he wished that he hadn't impressed the wildcat so much.

A whisper of words and an exchange of coins was all that was needed to seal his fate. But that was so long ago. It didn't matter now.

The pine marten leaped to the next beam, silently slipping through the shadows and dodging the guards. The Demon King's quarters were simple to find. If anything, all a beast had to do was follow the path of exquisite rugs and glimmering mirrors. Considering the fact that the rest of the fortress held bare walls and an overall grim atmosphere, the adornments were like signposts that read "Here I am! Come kill me!"

But it was the general that was the target. The king would have to wait until a later time.

General Thanatos proved a bit more challenging to find than his brother. Where King Ragnar had a gaudy sense of refinery, the general had absolutely no care in decor, preferring the cold dreary walls to the prospect of wasting time. But in some ways, the Ice General was the easier of the targets. Though the king was less aware of his surroundings, the general was clearly a beast of habit. Such creatures could be read as easily as a book and the formula for a successful murder could be mapped out.

He noticed almost the same exact routine every day. Dawn brought breakfast and a plethora of war meetings, by midday he attended sparring sessions and checked the slaves' progress, the evening brought dinner with the commanding chiefs, and every night brought him to meet with his mate. That was probably the most varying part of the warlord's boring schedule. Some days he met her at their quarters, others at the nursery where the weasel pups were kept.

While Slyte had no problems with slitting a throat with his own paws, it was too much of a risk. He imagined that King Ragnar would be susceptible to such an end, but a battle-ready warrior like Thanatos was a different case altogether. For him, poison would have to do.

* * *

Thanatos cupped his head in his palms. It had been days since his last restful sleep. While his mind still felt sharp, his body suffered fatigue and slowness as if he were moving through water. Even his servants had begun to notice this during battle practicing, easing up on their attacks and suggesting breaks_. _The general wrinkled his nose in disgust at the memory.

His trusted officers had all stated that war would sharpen fighting skills and refine the mind but that seemed a far stretch from the truth. Yes, he enjoyed the prospects of victory but the effort itself was a great toll to pay. He shook these demoralizing thoughts from his head and focused more on the military pieces sprawled strategically over his map.

A noise disturbed his thoughts. He looked up from his work for a split second to verify the ferret that held his breakfast. Sensing his agitation, the serving beast placed the silver platter on the table as quietly as possible.

"Leave," the weasel commanded, though the notion was probably already on the ferret's mind. With a quick shuffling of paws and the shut of the heavy door, the Ice General was left to his thoughts once more. He scrutinized the placement of his troops, studied contours of the land, calculated the days until winter, revisited his strategy on Redwall and Salamandastron, recalled the fire on the corsairs, counted and recounted his soldiers and counted them again.

All too quickly his mind became a dizzying haze. It was as if his head was packed to the brim with cotton while some madbeast was hammering at the insides of his skull. He reached forward to his tray of food and gripped the silver goblet in his fist, taking a deep gulp. _Damson wine. _He recognized the bittersweet taste just as it touched his cracked lips.

He placed the chalice back down on the table. Though he was fond of the drink he would have preferred water to clear his mind.

The light from the sconces flickered and sputtered tiny sparks, throwing menacing shadows against the walls. A shape shifted in the corner of his eye and the general whirled around only to face a lifeless suit of armor. He growled to himself, shoving the antique to the ground, wincing at the audible clang of metal against stone.

He straightened his position in his chair, wincing at a strange sensation. It was not pain, but an uncomfortable tightness as though a block of lead was loaded down in his belly. _Creak._ The sound alerted of him of the door opening and his thoughts immediately went to the troublesome servant that was probably checking on the sound.

"Leave me alone," he growled, putting a supportive paw on his side. The door shuddered open anyways and Fenris strode in, his nose held high, audibly inhaling deep breathfuls of air.

"What are you doing?" the weasel demanded, trying to keep an impassive expression.

"Quiet," the wolf ordered, still walking around the room in circles. The weasel gaped for a moment before his pride took over.

"You don't tell_ me _what to do." He stood up sharply, the motion bringing the chair into a colliding halt with the wall. But the wolf ignored him, jumping onto the table and stretching his nose higher and higher towards the ceiling.

"I smell it," he rumbled to himself, pacing across the stretch of table. Thanatos gripped the edge of the furniture, trying in vain to steady it while it shuddered from the strain. The little battle figurines shifted and toppled and the general cursed.

"Get down this instant!" he shouted. "Fenris, what has gotten into you?" But the wolf snarled in contempt.

"You do not sense that stench?"

"What st-" Pain cut through him like lightning and the general doubled over, a paw clamped around his stomach. Sweat beaded his forehead and he straightened his posture. His right-paw beast, however, remained on the table, still sniffling and snuffling about for whatever it was that he was searching for.

"What stench?" Thanatos asked, his tone a bit softer from the recovered pain. Though Ragnar didn't know it, Thanatos had noticed the blood smeared on his lacy handkerchief. Even more notable was the way his brother's body convulsed at times, a paw at his stomach.

_If Ragnar's ailment is comparable to that shock of pain I just had, then it's impressive how he's hid his ailment from the public eye,_ the general thought to himself_._

He gasped. Another pang blared from his stomach and he nearly fell to his knees. It was as though there were shards of glass churning in his gut. Millions and millions scraping away at his innards and spreading up to his limbs. A sensation of fire came in quick succession and he crumpled to the ground, crippled in pain.

Everything after was a blur. Shadows. Screaming. An overturning table. A whirl of chaos that nearly crushed him.

"Fenris." The plead was so weak the weasel doubted that it carried any farther than the room. His throat was like sandpaper. "Get help." And somewhere in the distance, the wolf howled- a horrible, hungry sound that echoed and nearly blew his eardrums out.

Everything faded to black.

* * *

Slyte held back a squeal. The wolf could smell him. The wolf could_ find_ him. The thought of being in that creature's mercy was enough to make bile rise in his throat. He stayed still as he could, his heart hammering in his chest like a war drum gone mad. He had hidden from scrutinizing eyes before, but he simply melted into the shadows and escaped with only a break of sweat.

But this beast was persistent. The pine marten stayed up in the rafters, fixed with horror as the high-captain circled the room with his snout in the air. _He can't get me here. He can never reach me all th' way up here._

And then the wolf got onto the table. The weasel was making so much noise, ordering the wolf to get off back on the ground but he fell silent as the poison began to take effect. Slyte flicked his eyes across the room. There were three windows to choose from but they were all seemed shuttered tight. He cursed himself inwardly. He should have known better. _Always_ make sure there are at least two exits at all times.

In that moment that monster locked eyes with him.

Golden, impenetrable, hungry eyes.

The assassin felt his insides quiver and turn to liquid.

That's when he knew to run.

The pine marten leaped from the ceiling beams, aiming his landing as far from the wolf as possible. But the creature expected that. Slyte yelped, dodging the swipe of a fist as the wolf nearly fell upon him. Jaws snapped at empty air and the marten found himself scrabbling away at all fours, foolishly turning his back to the savage as he raced to the door. He only tugged at the latch before the beast lunged at him, slamming its paws against the door. Slyte whirled backwards, falling onto his elbows and back, dodging the crushing impact by just a fraction of a second.

The marten was on his stomach in an instant, stumbling on all fours before planting his footpaws against the ground and springing himself for the opposite wall. He thrust himself past the chairs, shoving them towards his pursuant, leaped over the dying weasel on the floor, and jumped onto the table, feeling it shudder under his landing.

He ducked his head. The marten vaulted himself skywards and felt the window against his back break like an eggshell. He gasped at the impact, watching the world jilt and twist before his eyes. His climber's instinct took over and an arm shot out at the sensation of a fall to latch onto the windowsill. His full weight came down after, jerking his precarious hold. For a second he thought to rest for a while- that once he was out of that horrible room he was free as a bird.

But the wolf was coming.

He looked down, checking on a stony ledge that gilded the castle walls. He chanced a glance up only to scream at the monstrous snarling face.

He let go.

His heart plummeted and he caught himself expertly on the perilous ridge, feeling the edges scrape against the soles of his footpaws. Clutching at the rough rocky surface, he threw his weight forward, pressing his chest against the wall while his heels peeked over the precipice. Slowly, deliberately, he dared himself to look up once more and saw jaws snapping at his direction in a savage snarl.

The wolf was well out of arms reach now and Slyte breathed a sigh of relief for that. But he was not out of the woods yet.

Slyte took another glance around, hugging the wall as he registered the dizzying height. The soldiers and slave alike were far below, milling about with their duties and oblivious to his hapless position. The pine marten was no stranger to heights. Usually he welcomed it, but this time was an exception. He edged himself sideways, claws trying to catch hold of the grooves in the stone bricks. But where there should have been more ledges were only crumbled dead ends and marks where the ridge used to continue on. He turned his head, checking the other side.

It was a similar situation. A gap of ruined masonry stood between him and another foothold but he could never clear that leap. With nothing below, hopeless obstacles at his sides, and a fearsome predator awaiting above, the once undefeated spy was finally cornered.

"You have nowhere to run." The gravelly voice of the wolf echoed his thoughts. Regardless, Slyte edged himself as far to the left as he possibly could. In that moment the creature turned its massive head.

"Sir, I- m'lord!" Clearly somebeast had stumbled in to the horrific scene. "Somebeast get help! Lord Thanatos is unconscious."

"Fetch the healer," the wolf ordered, his fangs beginning to recede back beneath his lips. But Slyte could still see the red around the rims of its eyes as it watched the new prisoner with a fierce intensity. With barely a warning the feral beast emitted a chilling, deafening howl that must have conjured the attention of every beast in all the North. Slyte had never felt so exposed as hundreds of heads turned in his direction.

"Archers," Fenris bellowed. "Gather and train your arrows on this creature." In his mind, Slyte thought that he heard the sound of thousands and thousands of bowstrings stretching under tension. He glimpsed downwards and saw a score of arrows trained on his hide.

"It is your choice," said the high-captain in a suddenly calm tone. "You can let them kill you or you can surrender to me for questioning."

"N-n-no." The response was so quiet that even Fenris seemed to have trouble hearing it.

"Would you rather fall to your demise?"

"Please don't," he begged. In a pathetic gesture of cowardice he bent his quaking knees, trying to crouch and huddle against the cold stone. "I'm s'rry 'bout poisonin' the general."

"Death by the fall, death by arrows, or you can climb up yourself." His captor's voice was as chilled as the air itself. No worry or malice for his fallen commander, no mirth from his apparent victory. For some reason, the dangerous calm was more frightening than actual anger. But then again, anything was preferable to that blood-thirsty monster that had nearly mauled him with his bare fangs.

_Jump._ Slyte shut his eyes, trying to dislodge his claws but they were frozen in place. _Jump. It would be a quicker death._ But his muscles would not obey him.

"We want you alive, creature," Fenris reminded him. "Now climb."

"But please!"

"_Climb!_" The intensity of the command shook the marten to the core. He willed himself to let go- to just simply fall away into the darkness. He would never have to wake up to torture. Never would he have to enter Greymorg again. Nyara could never command her slave to do her bidding. Only peace awaited him in the Dark Forest.

But he was a coward at heart. He could never do what it was that his mind willed him.

Slowly, painfully, the marten raised a shaky arm towards the windowsill and the wolf grabbed eagerly at it. So strong was his grip that the spy lost his foothold and Slyte found himself dangling helplessly by the arm. Regardless, Fenris reeled up his little prisoner with almost no effort.

"Here." With a simple flick of the wrist he unceremoniously tossed the marten into the guards' waiting paws. "Search him." Slyte didn't bother to struggle in this lost battle. The rough paws practically tore his cloak off with such force that he feared that his entire hide would rip off with it. They wasted no time emptying every pocket. Several pocketknives, a few pawned jewelry, a fork, and a pawful of vials. Nobeast needed to inspect Thanatos's uneaten food to know its contents.

"Now..." The captain rounded on him, narrowing his golden eyes. The pine marten felt an uncomfortable wetness spread over his breeches. "You come bearing the smell of the ocean. No doubt one of the Hell Cat's."

"Yessir." He nodded so fast that his vision blurred. "But I'm jis' her slave. I's only doin' what she tol' me to!"

"Your orders were to kill the general." It was a statement, not a question but Slyte answered anyways.

"Th' king too." He licked his lips nervously. "I-I c'n tell ya which poison I used fer the general." A stoat held the vials up to his nose.

"That would be wise," the wolf stated, crossing his arms over his broad chest. The wretched creature nodded again, pointing his snout at the smallest vial.

"That one. Ars'nic, it's called."

"What is the cure?" the wolf demanded.

"I d- I dunno," he whimpered. "I dunno if there even is 'un." The wolf looked away at that, turning his attention to a rat guard that stood to the side.

"Give this to Sigma. She might know of this thing." No matter how calm or civil his tone was, the wolf's speech always seemed a growl. Slyte looked away from the fearsome beast and onto the mess at the table. It seemed that the weasel had been carried away- in a coffin or a stretcher- for his own sake, the marten hoped it was the latter.

"He din't drink much o' it," he said quietly, hoping to curry favor. "Only drank a gulp o' wine."

"Then you had better pray he lives." The response was quiet and icy, but that fierce intensity had dimmed and it was apparent that the wolf had grown bored of his quarry. "Now take him to the dungeon. I will be down there shortly for further questioning."

* * *

Slyte had been to the dungeons before and he was not keen on setting paw in it again- especially as an actual prisoner. It was dark down there even with the rows of sconces that lit their path. Numerous as they were, those flames seemed dull and weak as if the darkness itself was devouring the warmth of the glow. And beyond their path was a curtain of shadows. However, the marten was used to the lack of lighting and his eyes quickly adjusted. His advantage became a disadvantage as he recognized the familiar shapes of shackles, axes, skeletons, and a plethora of blood-smeared torture devices. And by the way it stank like the seven hells, the spy was sure that he did not need his eyes to know the death and horrors that lay in the tenebrous gloom.

_Clink. Clink. Clink._ The sound of keys echoed around them with each clumsy pawstep of the rat. _Clink. Clink. Clink._ Slyte was almost sure that the jailbeast was jerking his leg just to make the sound more obvious. _Clink. Clink. Clink._

The marten slinked between the guards, his head tucked between his shoulders. In his acceptance of defeat, his adrenaline had run its course and the biting pain of his wounds burned whenever he so much as moved a finger. It was mostly his paws, elbows, and knees, though. At the very least, he had to be grateful that he did not break a bone after his quick brush with death. With a wince the captive recalled how he caught his fall over the windowsill of glass shards. He was almost sure that blood was still steadily flowing from that gash but with the way that his entire arm was growing numb, he couldn't tell.

"You're lucky, y'know that?" It took a moment before the captive realized that the comment was aimed at him.

"Lucky?" he repeated, staring at the destitute faces of prisoners that looked back at him, slaves and soldiers alike. No doubt these creatures had done something either stupid or treacherous to fall out of favor, most likely the former. Whatever punishment those creatures were to suffer, Slyte was sure that he would receive worse. "I'm 'bout t'be tortured t'death."

"Just lucky that you're even 'live," a stoat finished gruffly. "You stayed out on th' ledge long 'nuff for High-Captain Fenris to cool down his thirst for blood."

"So what 'appens now?" the captive gulped. He caught his four guards pass looks over their shoulders before a sudden stop. The ugly rat finally held up a ring of keys large enough to pass as a badger's bracelet.

_Scrape, scrape, scrape. _Slyte winced every time a key ran across the surface of the metal ring. Slowly, deliberately, the rat flipped through the options until he came to one in particular and unlocked the heavy prison door with a heavy _click._ The captive didn't even make so much as a sound when they shoved him into a cell, forcing him to sit against the grimy wall as they fastened the manacles around his wrists.

He waited in anxious silence as the mindless soldiers restrained him, leaving him well out of range of escape. Or so they thought. From the slack of the chains, Slyte could tell that he would not be able to reach either limb. But if he was able to just reach the walls even that would be enough... If worse came to worse, the marten was willing to offer his services to Greymorg. He was more useful than in holding secrets, after all. He was an avid climber, a master of stealth, and not to mention his other gift.

But he doubted that the forces of Greymorg would trust him at all. Not after he had nearly killed their commanding officer. More than likely they would simply gut him like a trout after they had their fill of Nyara's secrets and plans.

Their work done, the guards seemed eager to be out of the drafty, moldy atmosphere and headed out the door.

"G'night," one of them snickered. "Don't let the 'roaches bite." The marten didn't bother replying with a retort or even a glare. Instead he closed his eyes, trying to hone his attention to the jangling of keys. They were strong at first, but as the pawsteps of free beasts started to echo into the distance, so did that irritating, cheerful sound. _Blast! They took it with 'em._

He breathed slowly, trying to fight back the despair welling up in his chest. While it was inconvenient that the keys were nowhere within reach, it was not crucial either. The marten squirmed backwards, keeping his back flattened upon the wall. Slowly, he pressed his right paw against the bricks, gritting his teeth as he applied pressure to the joint of his thumb.

_Pop._ The sudden sensation was just a twinge of pain but it left an uncomfortable feeling in his entire arm. With the slight modification, the contortionist was able to slip his paw through the manacle before placing his paw flat against the ground, applying the right pressure to snap his joint back in its proper place. He administered the same treatment for his left paw, biting his lip. The pain was nothing compared to dislocating his shoulder or knees, but it was a sickening sensation all the same. While it was something that had saved his life time and time again, to willingly engage in his own torture was something that Slyte had never truly gotten used to.

He dropped on all fours, searching for a nail or twig or bone or anything that could be of use. But whenever his paws came to something it was either moldy straw or something unsavory.

Without anything to pick the lock he would never be able to escape the cell alone. The spy groaned to himself and dislocated his thumbs again before slipping his limp paws back into the manacle. He let his wrists rest against the shackles as comfortably as they would allow. Sooner or later some unsuspecting beast would come to check on him or give him food. And in that time, they wouldn't know what hit them when their prisoner leaps for the door.

_Wait,_ he told himself. _Jis' wait._

* * *

"Thanatos!" Reun rushed to his bedside. His face was twisted in agony and his breathing slow and laborious. "M'lord." She knelt on her knees and clasped his paw in hers.

"He is between the world of the living and the Dark Forest, m'lady." She looked up at the healer as she laid a cloth over his feverish brow.

"Will he live?" Reun found her voice quivering with grief. Her mate and father of her cubs lay before her, more helpless than she dared to admit.

"He may and he may not," Sigma answered. "I have done all in my power. The rest is up to fate to decide." The she-weasel slammed a fist against the cushions.

"That's not good enough. _Nowhere_ good enough. You stand by his side at all times and you make sure he survives. I don't care what rituals you do or what sorcery you use- just _do it._" She burdened the last two words with the heaviness of a command. Clutching at the bed, Reun battled the tears that welled up in her eyes. Should he pass there were few and far between that would protect the remnants of her family. She would be thrust back into the ranks of soldiers and her poor cubs would fall into the tender mercies of...

"Ragnar did this, didn't he?" She swallowed the bile rising in her throat.

"The corsairs, m'lady," Sigma corrected. "High-Captain Fenris captured and questioned the assassin himself. He awaits further questioning in the dungeons." Reun nodded solemnly at that.

"You didn't foresee this happening."

"No, that I did not," admitted the vixen. "I fear that even my visions are limited in some manners."

"How convenient." Sigma bowed her head as Reun rose back to her full height. "Then use your vision to tell me if he lives or dies."

"Such a thing requires preparation, m'lady," the seer reminded her. "Such efforts should be for healing at such a turbulent time."

"Then get your useless apprentice to do the task." She jerked a chin at the hapless snow fox in the back room.

"He is not prepared yet, m'lady." The vixen's answer was hasty and nervous. Reun narrowed her eyes at them. Her mate had trusted them whole-heartedly. Some might even say fool-heartedly. It made her blood boil to see the way they treated his condition with such cool indifference. She looked back at him and pushed down that storm of emotions rising within her. So much hope, so many promises that he might never keep. He would not watch his armies conquer and flourish, nor would he see his daughter grow or his son wield a sword.

"Your visions told of Greymorg's victory. Was he not part of that prophecy?"

"I cannot say, m'lady." The vixen turned her back to mash herbs against a mortar. The she-weasel licked her lips and readied herself for another question.

"Is your allegiance with my Prince Thanatos or King Ragnar?"

The vixen stopped and turned to the weasel and dipped her head. "My allegiance is with Greymorg, m'lady. But you must remember that it was I who stood by Queen Narsca's bedside on the prince's day of birth. And yes, it was I who kept his illnesses at bay as a child and treated his wounds in his younger seasons." She cast a glance that seemed, for a moment, soft; but the expression was short-lived as a mask of apathy quickly took its place.

"There is nothing for Greymorg to gain with the loss of our great general," Sigma finished. Reun stood there for a moment, contemplating her next move. Though Sigma's words soothed her spirit, her intuition whispered treachery on Ragnar's part. But to face the Demon King alone would do little to comfort her. She spun at her heel, gripping her sword as she exited the door.

"M'lady?"

"If there's any news about my lord I'll be in the dungeons," she said curtly. There was yet one other beast that she could consult.

Down, down, down, the spiral steps led. Reun held the lamp in one paw while the other traced the stone walls. Further still, she descended and she felt as if she was going straight to Hell's pits itself. Either that, or the Basilisk's domain. She swallowed at the very notion of that.

She had never seen the beast, but if Thanatos hardly liked to talk about it then it had to be something too vile for words. Such a thing could only be expected of Ragnar's creature. The weasel pushed the thought away and continued on until she reached the long hall of sconces and cells. Something moved in the corner of her eye and her paw shot down to her sword hilt.

"Halt! Who goes there?" She sighed at the familiar phrase.

"Lady Reun, mate of General Thanatos." She was sure to speak with a high note of confidence as she drew herself higher. The weasel and rat guards gave a snappish salute at her introduction. "I am here to see the prisoner." The weasel guard was the first to speak.

"M'lady, would'ya need an escort?"

"Yes," she replied coldly. It had to be the fifth time a beast had offered her assistance at this simple task and she had refused them all; however, she needed somebeast to show her to the cell. "Take me to him."

"Yes, m'lady." The weasel left his post, eager to break out of the boredom of his duty. The beggared faces of the prisoners were easy to ignore, but the lack of lighting left her with an anxiety that pinched at her throat. More than anything she hoped that this beast was suffering greatly for what Thanatos had to endure.

"This 'un is it." The key twisted into the lock and gave a rusty shudder. Inside was an unusual, skinny beast in rags. Its bloodied arms were raised and stretched in opposite directions and the creature sank back as far as the shackles would allow. _ Typical of a cowardly weakling to use poison as a weapon._

"Leave us." The weasel paused at the door before she shot him a glare that sent him off with a curt "Yes, m'lady." The door closed behind them and she approached the prisoner. With each and every step she felt her fury triple in size.

"You wretched cur." A quick kick across the face knocked its head against the stone. A swift backpaw followed after that and its chains jerked at the impact. "You deserve that and more for what you did to my mate." The creature was still conscious and drooped its head to let blood spill out of his muzzle. Slowing her breathing, Reun placed the lamp on the ground and knelt down to his level, hooking her claws over the skin of his snout.

"Now you tell me what creature you are and who sent you." Its eyes had a bleary, dazed look to them and he shifted his lips as though he meant to talk. She released him, drawing herself back to her full height as she stood over the pitiful beast.

"Pine marten." Though his speech was slurred and sluggish, she could tell it was a male from the pitch of his voice. "Sent by Cap'n Nyara."

"To assassinate Thanatos," she finished. She had heard of such beasts before, but they were a rare thing to encounter- particularly in the icy north. "Tell me the cure for the poison."

"I- I don't know," he said piteously. "I jis' do as I'm ordered and I'm no healer." She slammed a heel into his tail and he screamed in pain. A delicious sound.

"You are going to feel a lot more than that if you don't answer carefully. What are the Hell Cat's next plans?"

"I dunno," he insisted. "I'm jis' a slave." The answer infuriated her even more and she dealt him another harsh backpaw. Thanatos killed by a mere slave. Disgusting.

"Even the lowest slave knows something."

"Then what'ja wanna know?" His chest heaved as he struggled weakly with the shackles.

"I want to know her exact numbers and her future plans," she replied sharply. And then a thought dawned on her. "If you don't answer, I'm sure that the Basilisk would enjoy crunching at your skinny little bones."

"The B-Basilisk?" His ears twitched with interest and he licked his lips nervously. Perhaps if Nyara did not know of that abomination within their keep then they still had the upper paw. The weasel smiled to herself. _At least Thanatos would know this if he wakes up... _when _he wakes up._

"You should see him," she said, relishing the blanching look on his face. Perhaps he had heard rumors, but the shock on his face verified his ignorance. "A spy should see its enemy's greatest weapon, after all." Reun turned to the door to call the guards when she heard a weak clatter of chains. She glimpsed movement from the corner of her vision and her eyes went wide as the assassin smashed the lamp. Darkness seized the cell and she instinctively sheathed her sword, stumbling back until her back hit the door. She would die before she let him escape.

"Guards!" she called. "Guards!" She narrowed her eyes against the pitch black nothingness. All of her training was of little use to her now. Something stirred in the darkness and she swung her blade in a wide arc. There was a cry of pain as the tip of the sharp steel met resistance. But he was still alive. A firm grip clamped over her sword arm and she made a move to wrench it free.

"M'lady?" The useless soldiers were approaching. Something struck her throat and the back of her head slammed at the back of her head. Stars and lightning exploded in her vision and she thought to drive a punch into the creature. She roared with anger but a snaggled rasp leaped out of her throat instead. Pain seared in her neck and blood slicked her palms as her paw grazed over the lamp's shard of glass embedded in her throat.

She inhaled and found bubbles of liquid instead of air. The weasel choked, stumbling into a confused bundle and grappling on the ground as the syrupy liquid pooled onto the floor.

She couldn't breathe. She wouldn't live.

A rectangle of dampened light traveled over the walls as the door opened.

She could only helplessly watch as the assassin slipped away into the darkness leaving the fortress with one less weasel.

* * *

**This chapter was a pretty fun one to write. Next chapter deals with Brink, Keetch, and Sarrow as well as some Jolin. :)**

**By the way, I've been thinking about rewriting the story. I chanced a glance back at my humble beginnings and I shudder at the glaring flaws. I also noticed that I tried too hard to incorporate a bunch of backstories for practically everyone when I should have focused on 10 characters at most. It's a stupid rookie mistake. Well, that would have to wait until I finish this thing! :D**

**Thank you for reading and please review. Any comments, suggestions, and constructive criticism is greatly appreciated. :D**

**~Jade TeaLeaf**


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